Secret
by aesthesiogenic
Summary: Hannah Winters comes to Sherlock Holmes with a case that he cannot refuse. The mystery behind the woman intrigues him, who killed the Winters? Sherlock/OC
1. 001  Curiosity

**{001}**

Curiosity.

_Love is a dangerous disadvantage._

Hannah Winters. Hair as dark as her eyes, skin a smooth cream, her toes curled, calves stretched as she shifted her position, sitting up in bed. She sighed and ran her fingers through her tangled hair, tugging at the knots. She stepped lightly, the cold hardwood beneath her feet giving her chills, she wrapped her robe around her and entered the bathroom.

Staring herself in the mirror, she examined her throat, the thin pink line that ran across the middle seemed lighter than the day before. Her fingers brushed along it before her hand fell to the sink, both hands now gripping the white porcelain. She turned the bath on, wrapping her hair up and submersing herself in the hot liquid. Her head lolled to the side, staring out into her bedroom, where on her bed sat the clothing she would wear today. She sighed.

**.**

Hannah Winters. For lack of a better term, you could describe her as young. Too young to have already finished Uni, too old to not have started it. More recently however, she had not been attending her classes. Her friends felt as though she dropped off the face of the earth and other than the occasional friend checking up on her, she has not really had any contact with them.

Sitting in the cab and staring out at the streets she grew up on as if she were a foreginer. Her hands were shaking as she wrung her pale coloured gloves in her hands. "Where to miss?" Her eyes turned away from the window and looked at the cabby before her. She stumbled over her words,

"Uhm... 221B Baker Street Sir, if you would please." She bit her bottom lip, tugging on it slightly as the cab took a right turn. As the car progressed further and further towards her destination she smoothed down her skirt, straightened up her hair, and fixed her makeup. A left turn brought her to Baker St. and no more than 20 seconds later she was giving the cabby money and stepping onto the curb.

221B Baker Street was situated next to a deli, the address made notorious by Dr. John Watson's online blog which boasted of his partner, a Mister Sherlock Holmes. Collecting her composure on the steps, she rang the bell once, stepping back from the door to stand in front of the entrance. An older woman opened the door and locked her eyes onto the young female in front of her. "How can I help you dear?"

Hannah checked the address on the door and asked, "Is this the address of Dr. Waston and Mr. Holmes?" The older woman gave a smile.

"Yes, it is. I am their land lady, I own the building. Come in dear, before you catch a cold." Hannah smiled softly and followed the woman into the building. "You can call me Mrs. Hudson, I'll go and ask the boys if they would wish to speak with you."

"Thank you Ma'am." Hannah stuffed her hands into her pockets and looked around at the decor of the small living area she was walked into. The quaint furnishings and old fashioned wallpaper gave the sitting room what she knew to be the taste of the older woman that had never changed.

**.**

"Sherlock. John." Mrs. Hudson entered their living room to see Sherlock Holmes pacing the floor, staring off into space and John Watson typing away on his computer about their last case. The pair looked up at the sound of Mrs. Hudson.

"Client?" Sherlock asked. Mrs. Hudson nodded.

"I believe so, pretty young thing sitting downstairs in the parlour." Mrs. Hudson gestured to the stairwell behind her. John perked up in his seat on the sofa.

"Send her up then, Mrs. Hudson." She nodded with a smile before disappearing down the stairs.

"Be sure not to embarrass yourself." Sherlock smirked, settling himself down in a chair. John glared at his partner, shaking his head, before saying,

"Embarass myself? What do you mean embarass myself?" John closed his laptop before placing it on the end table.

"Mrs. Hudson mentions that a 'pretty young thing' is sitting downstairs, a prospective client, and the first thing that ran through your mind was if you could manage a date with her." Sherlock looked to his friend.

"I did not." John looked offended.

"You did." With the sound of heels clicking on the steps, their conversation ended. A dark haired girl turned into the room, hands clutching on her gloves, held in front of her.

Hannah looked at the two men before her, the shorter of the two, the blond stood from his seat and held his hand to her. "Dr. John Watson." She shook his hand.

"Hannah Winters," her eyes travelled to the man who was still seated to her right. "You must be Sherlock Holmes."

"Fantastic deduction." His eyes rolled and her upper lip curled slightly.

"Don't mind him, he's currently trying to kick cigarettes." Hannah nodded and John gestured to a spot on the sofa, "Please, have a seat." She thanked him and took the seat, Mrs. Hudson came from downstairs seconds later with a tray of tea and buiscuts.

"Thank you Ma'am." She smiled and pat her arm. John poured Hannah a cup of tea, which she gladly accepted.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked. Hannah swollowed the moutful of tea, and rested the cup in the saucer. She sighed.

"I am here because I need your help." Hannah looked at the dark haired man whose eyes seemed to study her.

"Obviously." Hannah bit her lower lip and looked into the amber liquid in her cup.

"Go on Miss." Hannah looked between the two men.

"A series of murders have-"

"If there were murders I would have heard about them." Hannah glared at the dark haired man across from her.

"A series of murders from when I was a child, Mr. Holmes." Hannah rested her cup and saucer on the table. "When I was a child my family was murdered." Sherlock's hands moved, the hand that had cradled his cheek, joined the other in his lap. "One by one, they wouldn't wake up. First my grandfather, which we didn't have too much concern about, he was very old after all, then my Mother, then my Father, my Aunts, my Uncles, my sisters, my brothers. All of them, gone. One after another. In one year I lost more than 40 of my family members, Mr. Holmes." Her voice was shaking, her hands gripped her knees.

"Surely there must have been an investigation." John leant forward, elbows on his knees. Hannah nodded.

"There was and nothing was found. No evidence of poison, asphixiation, nothing." Hannah's eyes looked to both men.

"A maid or possibly gardener." She looked with furrowed brows to the dark haired detective.

"How would you know that I had a maid or a gardener?" John Watson sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Here we go..." Sherlock smirked, but didn't change his position.

"You come from money, if one couldn't tell by your incredible posture and the way you cross your ankles like they teach you in finishing school, you can tell by the necklace you're wearing. A family heirloom, cleaned religiously once a month by someone who your family trusts. Your hands are clean and incredibly soft, you don't have a job and you never did. You're a university student, although something happened in the past eight months that has caused you to become almost reclusive. Judging by the scar on your neck I would say that you were attacked, possibly by someone who wanted to finish off your family once and for all." Hannah's lips were pressed together tightly, trying to keep herself from smacking the smug grin off of the detective's face.

"Mr. Holmes, I didn't come here to hear things I didn't already know. If you think for one second that the thought of the maid or the gardener or even my Nanny had been the one to kill my family. The thing is that they were killed too. I was not a suspect because I was only six years old, so if you have any other theories, please... inform me." John leant back in his seat as a smirk became more evident on the face of Sherlock. "Will you take the case Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock stood from his seat, her eyes following his figure as she crossed the room to his mantle. "Who attacked you?" She bit her bottom lip once more, before saying,

"A crazyman. He was convinced that we had all died off for a reason and he felt as though God needed him to finish the job."

"So he broke into your apartment?" John asked. She shook her head.

"Took me off of the street and slit my throat in a back alley, left me to die." She picked up the saucer once more, finishing her tea before standing from her seat. "If you are interested gentlemen I shall be on my way home. You know where to find me, don't you?" Sherlock gave a curt nod and Hannah made her exit.

"Do you always have to do that?" John glared at his partner. Sherlock brushed dust off the mantle.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Sherlock went to his computer and pulled up the search engine, typing in 'Winters Murders' and looking at the articles that popped up. A particular article caught his interest, one with a small corresponding picture of a young Hannah Winters, aged six, being held by a person outside of the shot, her brown hair pulled up in pigtails and tears on her cheeks in her Sunday best. Her big brown eyes staring into the lense of the camera. "John." The man moved from his place of washing the tea cups to look at Sherlock, whose hands were held in front of him.

"What?" The blond man responded.

"We'll take the case."


	2. 002 Intrigue

**-I have noticed that another writer has a name similar to mine for their Sherlock OC, instead of going through the very long process of figuring out who had it first because we published the story on the same day, I decided to change Claire to Hannah, in case you were wondering-**

**Ashley Marie.**

**{002}**

Intrigue.

Hannah Winters was sitting in bed staring blankly at the television when a buzzing reached her ears. She sighed, swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked to her front door. "What?" She asked, letting go of the button and resting her head on the wall.

"It's Sherlock Holmes." A shuffling was heard and Sherlock then added, "With John Watson." Hannah sighed and pressed the button allowing them access to the building before moving to her bedroom, pulling on a pair of shorts, clicking off the television and pulling up her hair before a series of knocks drug her to the door, opening it only slightly before Mr. Holmes rushed into the room followed, more slowly, by John Watson. Dr. Watson nodded before Hannah shut the door, slapping her thighs lightly as she turned around.

Sherlock Holmes had made himself at home, removing his coat and putting his feet up as he reclined in the easy chair. John Watson, however, needed the go away from Hannah to take his seat near Sherlock on the sofa. Hannah sighed. "It's been a week."

"We will take your case." Sherlock stated. Hannah nodded before sitting down in the opposite chair and crossing her legs.

"It took you a week to say yes?"

"No, it took me a few minutes to decide that I will take your case, it took me a week to research and collect data." Hannah nodded and rubbed her face.

"Is that all you came here for?" Hannah sighed, leaning back in her chair. "This couldn't have just been a phone call?"

"Isn't it proper to offer your guests some tea? It is rather brisk outside." Sherlock was looking around the room and John sat with his hands in his lap awkwardly. Hannah nodded.

"Would you like some tea Mr. Holmes?" Hannah removed herself from the chair to pad over to the kitchen.

"No, but I'm sure John will." Hannah looked over to the blond man on her couch and he nodded awkwardly. Hannah set the kettle to boil and moved to get the cups out.

"You still own your family's estate." Hannah looked to Sherlock who had picked up a book from the end table and started flipping through the pages. Hannah nodded. "We will need to search it." The water boiling, Hannah removed it from the heat and set out the tea, collecting the sugar and milk.

"That's fine." She brought the tray back into the sitting room and placed it in front of John. Pouring a cup for him and then herself, she sat back in her seat and sipped the hot liquid.

"You will be coming with us." Sherlock added. Hannah looked at him with distain.

"I will not." Her tone suggested that she would not speak of the subject any further. Sherlock looked at the girl in front of him. Her eyes spoke volumes, the same big brown eyes from the picture held fear, glassy with moisture, her body closed in. Arms tight against her body, almost holding herself if it werent for the cup in her hand.

"You will, we will need you to identify when and where each death happened." Hannah made to protest. "Anyone that could help us is dead. The officer who looked over the case died of heart disease two years ago." Hannah shook her head.

"I have Uni. I can't." She placed the cup and saucer on the tray and crossed her arms.

"You haven't gone in months a few more weeks won't do any harm." She rolled her eyes and looked at the man across from her.

"I'm sorry for Sherlock, he's got no filter." John Watson interviened. "We would just really appreciate if you would come with us, to help with the investigation. It would be much easier to know where each thing happened rather than make guesses the whole way."

"It was his idea for you to come," Sherlock looked to his partner. "I'm sure we could have done without, it's easy enough figuring out where they all died." John rolled his eyes and looked back to Hannah who took interest in a frayed string on the bottom of her cotton shorts.

"When?" She spoke into her lap, picking at the thread.

"We," John looked to Sherlock, "Were thinking of leaving in three days, enough time to pack what we need to and get things in order for the trip." Hannah nodded. She stood from the chair and made her way to the kitchen, tea tray in hand. She looked at the two men in her sitting room.

"I haven't been there since they died." She leant against the entry way. "I'll have to make a few phone calls and make sure the place is livable, electric and water back on and such. I have to make sure it's clean." John nodded.

"Come on, let's go." He nudged Sherlock as he stood. Sherlock's eyes were still on the girl across the room.

"I must have a word with Miss Winters." He stood, "I'll be down in a minute." John looked at the two of them before nodding and leaving the flat. Hannah stared on awkwardly at the closed door before turning to look at the tall brunette standing in the middle of her flat.

"Yes Mister Holmes?" Hannah crossed her arms and he walked over to her slowly. His eyes locked with hers, she felt his terrible intimidation weigh down on her and her whole demeanor changed.

"I wish to inform you, Miss Winters," Sherlock stopped with only a small gap seperating them. She could feel his body heat and her teeth clenched. "Someone, most likely the man who attacked you, has been following you." Hannah's lips parted, eyes watering she dropped them to the floor.

"How do you know?" Hannah moved away from him to look out the window, his hand caught her wrist and pulled her back before she could open the curtains.

"Don't look." He snapped. He dropped Hannah's wrist and she rubbed the skin as he paced the room. "You will not answer your door." His fist was clenched and near hit mouth as he paced. "Either John or I will escort you anywhere you need to go. We will send a text when we have arrived." He walked to the windows and started checking the locks, pressing on the glass and looking at the creases. Hannah followed him around the house, from kitchen to living room to bathroom and finally to the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway and looked at the room painted white. The plush white duvet turned down with dark coloured sheets, paintings sat against the walls not yet hung, the closet doors were opened revealing her wardrobe shoes strewn in a heap on the floor and clothes squeezed together jam packed into a too small closet.

His pause only lasted for a moment and then he strode over to the window beside the bed checking that as well. "I don't think he could really get through the window, I'm on the top floor." Sherlock looked at her with a incredulious look.

"If you want something bad enough, you will find a way," He walked to the other window and checked that one as well, "And obviously he wants it."

"If he's the one after me, then wouldn't he have been the one to murder my family?" He turned to her and shook his head.

"He's too young, he was hired." He stopped in front of her once more. She looked at the ground, unable to hold his intimidating gaze. He cleared his throat and walked past her into the living room. She followed him moments later and found him staring at the locks on her door. "He's been following you for a while, waiting for the moment when he could catch you when no one was around."

"How do you know that he was following me?" Sherlock tested the chain lock, the gold painted metal grinding together.

"I have been following you. I would be blind to not be able to see that I wasn't the only one." Sherlock locked the chain and gave it a tug.

"You were following me?" Hannah's voice rose an octive. Sherlock glared at the chain.

"It was necessary."

"How is it necessary?" Hannah moved closer to Sherlock, his eyes still fixed on the gold chain.

"I wondered, Miss Winters, why you would seek help now. It has been years since the case has been open, I was wondering first if it was because you are young, you might have just gotten the power to search on your own. Seeing as you are in your early twenties, I ruled that out, you would have gone to the police when you turned eighteen." Hannah looked on in interest. "Then I thought it was because of your attack, but still... the time period didn't match up. You would have come months ago." He turned from the lock. "Then I realized something." Hannah shrunk under his scrutinizing gaze. "Those marks on your thigh. They were covered before by your skirt, I had my speculations but they were confirmed when you opened the door. I saw them almost immediately." Hannah looked down at her thigh, where the skin was a slightly darker shade. "You went to the doctor's and they knew nothing and your only hope is to figure out the who so you can figure out the how and the what, to find your cure." Hannah looked on at Sherlock in shock.

"You've been poisoned Miss Winters, just like the others." Hannah sat down on the chair behind her, her face unreadable.

"They would get these blotches on their skin." She told him, "Doctors were baffled, they didn't know what it was. Everyone, my Father, my Mother, Siblings... they would all be fine, just with these weird blotches until a month or so later they just wouldn't wake up." She looked up at the man who nodded with what she was saying. "I found them last week. No one knows what to do. They all thought it was just poison ivy or something, but... it was proved wrong." She sighed and looked into the man before her's eyes. Those same big brown eyes that stared back at him from a photo taken many years before. "I have limited time Mister Holmes. My life depends on it." Sherlock nodded.

"Then we have no time to waste." Sherlock turned and opened the door. "Lock it behind me. All three." With that he was gone.

**.**

"I was right." John turned to Sherlock as he burst from the building, Sherlock turned to push the door shut the lock system clicking into place.

"Right?" John asked, following Sherlock onto the curb. "Right about what exactly?"

"The reason why she came to us." Sherlock peered down the street seeing the back of a head he was familliar to. "She has been poisoned as well."

"Poisoned?" John followed Sherlock's eyes, but found nothing of interest where Sherlock seemed to be staring.

"Just like the others, poisoned." Sherlock turned down the street where the pale haired man stood a couple yards away, his back turned to Sherlock and John. His fingers tapping against his thigh. "The question is how and with what." John followed Sherlock at a speedy pace, Sherlock's long strides working him over to the pale haired man who blew cigarette smoke from his nose, the man staring up at the windows that Sherlock, himself, just checked for weakness. The man was perched very perfectly next to a very dark alley of which Sherlock would use to his advantage. "Do you have your gun John?"

"What?" John looked at Sherlock skeptically. "Why?"

"We need to look threatening."


	3. 003 Escort

**-I apologize for any spelling errors you might find in any of the chapters. I do my best to catch them, but sometimes they slip right past me. This damn internet generation I belong to only relys on spell check.- **

**-This chapter isn't my best. Honestly. Not much happens.-**

**Ashley Marie**

**{003}**

Escort.

Thirty-six. Thirty-six hours until Hannah would find herself stepping onto soil once trodden by her tiny shoes on the way to church and during garden parties. The same ground she would walk across with her mother in the afternoons and with her father in the mornings. Thirty-six hours and she could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. She stared at the small suitcase of which held three sweaters, a few blouses and three pairs of denim jeans along with travel toiletries and a pair of trainers. Her fingers were at her lips as she wondered what else she would be needing.

She moved across the room to her windowsil where her mobile was charging. She unlocked it and scrolled to a name she was wary of contacting. Tapping her foot, she bit her lower lip and tapped the name.

**New Message; To: Sherlock Holmes. **

_**I have to go to the store.**_

She hit send and placed the phone back on the sill, walking to her closet she removed a soft cotton dress, running her hand over the fabric before removing the hanger and placing it with the rest of her clothing into the suitcase. She grabbed a pair of heels to match and heard a buzz from her phone.

**Message Recieved;**

_**John is on his way. SH**_

Hannah pursed her lips and shut her suitcase before setting it by the door. She slipped on a pair of trainers and glanced out her window to the street below. A busy day in London for certain, pedestrians all walking to some unknown location in all directions, one stood out clear. A blond head bobbing its way to her building. Her phone rang. She crossed the room to her phone which read: **John Watson**. "Hello?" She pulled on her jacket and collected her wallet and keys.

"I'm out front, did you want me to come up or...?" Hannah opened her door, locking it on her way out she made her way to the elevator.

"No, I'm fine. I'm already at the elevator. I'll be down in a second." She pressed the 'down' button and patiently waited for the silver doors to open.

"Alright, I'm right by... a very tall potted plant." Hannah smiled and stepped into the elevator. Pressing the lobby button she replied, "See you soon." She shoved the phone into her pocket along with her small wallet and keys. Staring at the decreasing numbers, she stared into the elevator door's reflective surface. She grimaced. Running her fingers through the snarls of her hair, she tamed it somewhat. She walked across the lobby, somewhat empty which was the norm for a Wednesday morning.

Hannah spotted John standing next to the mentioned potted plant, a pointless decoration that the architects put there to complete the area and make the solid, cold building seem more homey. "Hey." She hugged John who kissed her cheek before gesturing for them to be off. "I only need to go up the road, just for a few things, but... I didn't know- well... Sherlock said not to go anywhere without either of you. I'm sorry if I bothered you." John shook his head.

"No. If it wasn't this, Sherlock would surely instruct me to do something else. This is the easy part of my day." Hannah returned John's kind smile, looking down at the ground. John's mind traveled back to a few nights before when Sherlock insisted that they 'rob' the man who was watching the beautiful girl next to him. On his person they took a switchblade, but also the man's mobile. Sherlock has been busy dissecting the device. Checking the numbers.

"So have you always done this?" Hannah asked. John shook his head.

"I was in the military, in Afganistan before I met Sherlock." John held open the shop door and allowed Hannah through. "I was shot and was brought back to London. I met Sherlock a few years ago, while I was looking for a flat."

"So you got stuck with him?" Hannah started plucking objects from the shelves and placing them in the basket on her arm. John laughed and nodded.

"Basically." John's pocket made a sound. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the message.

_**What is her medical condition? SH **_

John sighed and realized why Sherlock sent him. He wanted John to see how the poison was spreading. John tried to see her how Sherlock would. As he looked at Hannah he noticed her skin was a bit paler than it was when they had met a week ago. Only slightly, not dramatically. Her legs, where Sherlock said her skin was blotched, was covered. Other than her skin being pasty there wasn't much to go on. Hannah frowned, looking at a product of which she was reading. She closed her eyes tightly and opened them. Her vision was blurring. "Are you alright?" She looked at him and smiled, nodding slightly. He nodded looking back down at his phone.

_**Pale skin, blurry vision. She's becoming ill. JW**_

"We should probably get food for our stay..." Hannah mumbled, placing the item in her basket. She looked to John. "I guess we could always go into town though, what do you think?"

"Why don't we just wait a bit, Sherlock rarely eats when he's on a case if he eats at all. We could probably just do with some take aways." Hannah nodded and checked her phone.

"I called an electrician, he told me earlier today that wiring was fine, the power will be back on as long as we stay. Water is back on and all. The cleaners are going over today and tomorrow, should be ready by the time we get there." John nodded.

"That's good then." They soon left the store, walking back to Hannah's flat.

_**Bring her to St. Barts. SH**_

**.**

Hannah found herself sitting on a stool in some sort of lab. A mousy brown haired woman talked in a hushed voice with Sherlock, who stood across the room with his arms folded. Sherlock spoke to her and the woman blushed, brushing her hair behind her ear before nodding and leaving the room. "What's going on?" Hannah asked. Sherlock walked over to her and sat in a chair opposite her.

"Doctor visit." Hannah opened her mouth to speak, but shut it when the mousy woman returned with a bag, which she handed to John. John walked over to Hannah.

"Just to see how things are." John pulled out a stethoscope. "To see how the poison is progressing." Hannah's eyes flickered over to the mouse woman before looking at Sherlock.

"I'm Molly." The woman said.

"I don't think this is necessary." Hannah said. She pushed John aside and hopped off the stool. "We know how it will end, why do this?"

"Hannah, please." She shook her head and looked at John.

"I'm sorry if I don't want to know how quickly I'm dying Dr. Watson." Hannah moved to walk past him. Sherlock grabbed her wrist, making her turn to look at him.

"Don't be difficult. Let the good Doctor see how you are fairing. We need to know how quickly it is spreading and to where to further identify what it is." Sherlock released her wrist when he was sure she wasn't going to leave. "You asked us to solve the case. Let us." Hannah sighed and moved back to sit on the stool. John placed the stethoscope to her chest and instructed her to breathe. After taking her pulse and blood pressure Dr. Watson requested to see the blotches on her thighs.

"Are you mad? I'm not pulling my pants down right here, in front of all of you." Sherlock sighed and John glared at him. Molly was still standing a little ways away, her eyes flickering to Sherlock ever so often. She spoke,

"I have a pair of shorts in my bag. I was planning on going to the gym later," Molly gestured to a small bag that was sitting under the desk to her right.

Hannah crossed her arms, sitting on the stool in Molly's gym shorts. Her legs crossed as John inspected the spots.

"They are darker now." Sherlock stood, walking to inspect with John.

"What colour were they when you saw them?" Their gaze on her thighs made Hannah self-conscious. Her arms folded in and she leaned away.

"A rosy pink." Sherlock took a picture. "Do they hurt in any way?" Hannah shook her head.

"They bother me some, but not a lot. I put lotion on so they itch less."

"What do you think Watson?" John's face was screwed in concentration.

"They seem to be from irritation. The skin is inflamed." Sherlock nodded. "Any ideas?"

"I have eight." And with that Sherlock ran from the room.

**.**

Hannah groaned, "You are so frustrating." She shut the door behind Sherlock as he paced in her livingroom. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to see you until we leave."

"John and I took care of that man." Hannah looked confused. Sherlock sighed. "The man following you, the man."

"Oh." Hannah stared at the man who was now standing in front of her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, now..." He sat on the sofa, "Tea?" Hannah shook her head.

"I got rid of my milk, it'll spoil while we're gone. Why are you here Mister Holmes?" Sherlock sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"I had eight ideas, after doing some thinking I had seven, after looking around your living area I have six. We will be staying at your family's estate for five days. In those five days we will need to find what the poison is, how it was administered, who did it and why they did it." Sherlock stood from the sofa and made his way to Hannah who stood by the door. "How many rooms does the estate have?" Hannah shrugged.

"At least twenty, bedrooms you mean right?" Sherlock nodded.

"One of us has to be in close proximity to you at all times. I'm guessing you would like to stay in your childhood room, what rooms are beside it?"

"Uhm... well, my sister's rooms are next to mine, two of them, and my brother's rooms across from ours, three of them." Sherlock nodded.

"Good." He made his way to the door. "One more thing." Sherlock took a long stride to be as close to Hannah as he could possibly get. Hannah pressed herself further against the wall, trying to back away from his tall frame. Eyes connecting, Sherlock leaned forward, his hands gripping her shoulders, moving up to her neck. Hannah's breath caught in her throat as his face grew closer to hers.

"What are you doing?" She whispered. Sherlock shook his head, his lips brushing her cheek, she flinched back, his hands found their way into her hair and he tilted her head back. She stared at his lips. His lips pressed against hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and her heart leapt into her chest. His fingers tugged on her hair and she gasped giving his tongue entrance. It swept in once and was swiftly removed. Sherlock removed hs body from against hers and fixed his scarf.

"Five ideas." Hannah stood slack jawed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Sherlock looked at her as he opened the door.

"Lock this behind me, better safe than sorry." And with that he was gone.


	4. 004 Home

**-Oh hello really long chapter. Seriously guys, this is like 2x the other ones. About 4,000 words. I'm proud, yes. As we get further into the mystery I would like you, if you leave a review to guess who did it, why they did it and how. I already have it planned out, like how the poison was administered and who did it...why they did it, but I would like to hear your guesses. The next chapter will introduce more people for you to guess, but let me know what you think of Arthur Gregg. -**

**EDIT: So a part of the beginning was copied twice, I'm sorry! I fixed it, but if there is anything else, let me know!**

**Ashley Marie**

**{004}**

Home. 

It rose from the fog dauntingly. The large manor with black brick. Hannah's breath caught as the taxi drove them closer to the front doors with silver knockers. "Bit gloomy isn't it?" John spoke. Hannah nodded and looked across the moor, the trees lining the drive way leading the way once walked by a younger Hannah. When the taxi stopped a throbbing occoured in Hannah's head, she leant her head against the cold glass window in attempt to soothe the ache in her skull. "Are you alright?" John's hand rested on her shoulder. Hannah gave a weak nod. Sherlock sat on the opposite side of John, he himself looking out the window at the grounds layed out before him. Hannah had refused to talk to him since the night before and John didn't understand why, but the tension was palitable.

The taxi stopped, Sherlock's side facing the tall doors with silver knockers. The driver got out along with the three of them, helping them with the bags from the boot. A man with silver hair opened the door. His white smile, light blue eyes and glasses were something so familliar to her. Hannah's face broke into a smile. She ran to the man whose arms were open wide to accept her. Sherlock and John looked on at the scene with confusion, the girl bubbled over with excitement as she gushed to the kind man that was not mentioned to the two investigators. The bags were brought over to the door where they were finally in ear shot of the two's conversation.

"It's been such a long time," The older gentleman rubbed her shoulders. "When Lucy told me you were coming back, I knew I just had to come and see you."

"You could have given me warning!" Hannah had a smile on her face not before seen by the two men standing next to the bags. "I would have brought you something."

"I'm fine, you know me, I don't do too well with trinkets anyway," The man finally became aware of the two other people standing nearby, the taxi paid and gone. "Ah. Who are these gentlemen?" Hannah brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"This is Doctor John Watson, and Mister Sherlock Holmes." Hannah walked over to the two. "John, Sherlock, this is Arthur, he lives in town, owns the grocery." John shook hands with Arthur, while Sherlock stood brooding in the background, examining the old man who stood a few feet away.

"You're rather agile for an older gentleman aren't you?" Sherlock's voice was deep and accusing.

"Sherlock." Hannah nudged him in the ribs, Sherlock didn't flinch.

"I keep myself well. The Missus put me on this diet," Sherlock looked at smiling Hannah and then Arthur. Sherlock then nodded.

"So you will be staying just in town then?" Arthur nodded and gave Sherlock a wary smile.

"Lucy would love to have you over for dinner before you go." Hannah nodded and gave Arthur another hug.

"I'll be sure to stop in, I'll have to pick up some gorceries anyway." Arthur gave Hannah a smile and with the tip of his hat he was down the steps and climbing into his tiny car.

"Must you put off everyone you meet?" Hannah glared as Arthur pulled off. She snatched her bag from the steps and walked into the house, "Sherlock, really? He's the nicest man I've ever met and all he did was make sure the house was being run right and you have to go saying things to make everything so awkward." She dropped her bag in the foyer. Hands on her hips, she turned to the two men standing in her doorway. John was closing the doors behind him as Sherlock spoke.

"How long have you known him?" Hannah rolled her eyes.

"My whole life, why does it matter? He runs the grocery. Gave me candies when my Nana wasn't looking." John laughed.

"Your Nana?"

"I couldn't say Nanny quite yet, I named her otherwise. It just stuck." Hannah sighed, "Let me show you to your rooms."

The manor was cleaned spotless, the inside of the house more brightly decorated than the outside. The hardwood floors waxed and shining with a large area rug in the foyer leading up to a large staircase. Hannah led them up the stairs and to the right. The door at the end of the hall to the right was made of dark mahogany, the polished ornate doorknob.

"This is mine," She directed at the door. "Those two," She pointed to the one on the left of her room and across the hall from hers, "Are yours, it doesn't really matter who takes which room." Sherlock pushed passed her and entered her bedroom. He sniffed the air, checked under the bed, searched the closet and dresser drawers. "Looking for bombs?"

"Or something of that nature." Sherlock stood on the desk chair and peered into the wall vent, shining down a light he pulled from his pocket.

"Well if you're done I would like to unpack, you can go search the rest of the house." She pushed Sherlock out of her room and closed the door to John and his mumbling. Sighing she looked at her bedroom, wiped clean from years of neglect, her furniture shined just as it did when she left. The bed sheets changed, pillows fluffed, the bed looked so inviting. She kicked her bag over and crawled into the bed sighing, buring herself in the sheets, she stared at the ceiling. Her eyes grew wide. She screamed.

**.**

"You really want to investigate Arthur?" John walked with Sherlock as Sherlock was checking rooms.

"Yes, he's known the family long enough, he works just in town, lives just in town, it'd be good to start there." John sighed.

"He seemed really genuine though."

"So did your limp, but honestly..." Sherlock closed the door to the pantry and re-entered the kitchen.

"I guess we should then... you want to go into town and question the residents?" Sherlock nodded.

"Only one of us can go, the other has to stay here with Hannah." John opened his mouth to talk. "I'll stay with Hannah this afternoon, and you can go to the grocery, look for anything suspicious."

"I don't think that's such a good idea." Sherlock stopped and turned to John.

"Why not?" John shrugged.

"You tell me, Hannah isn't exactly fond of you at the moment. Why is that?" Sherlock didn't have time to answer, Hannah's scream turned them both around and they took off to the stairs.

It rose from the fog dauntingly. The large manor with black brick. Hannah's breath caught as the taxi drove them closer to the front doors with silver knockers. "Bit gloomy isn't it?" John spoke. Hannah nodded and looked across the moor, the trees lining the drive way leading the way once walked by a younger Hannah. When the taxi stopped a throbbing occoured in Hannah's head, she leant her head against the cold glass window in attempt to soothe the ache in her skull. "Are you alright?" John's hand rested on her shoulder. Hannah gave a weak nod. Sherlock sat on the opposite side of John, he himself looking out the window at the grounds layed out before him. Hannah had refused to talk to him since the night before and John didn't understand why, but the tension was palitable.

The taxi stopped, Sherlock's side facing the tall doors with silver knockers. The driver got out along with the three of them, helping them with the bags from the boot. A man with silver hair opened the door. His white smile, light blue eyes and glasses were something so familliar to her. Hannah's face broke into a smile. She ran to the man whose arms were open wide to accept her. Sherlock and John looked on at the scene with confusion, the girl bubbled over with excitement as she gushed to the kind man that was not mentioned to the two investigators. The bags were brought over to the door where they were finally in ear shot of the two's conversation.

"It's been such a long time," The older gentleman rubbed her shoulders. "When Lucy told me you were coming back, I knew I just had to come and see you."

"You could have given me warning!" Hannah had a smile on her face not before seen by the two men standing next to the bags. "I would have brought you something."

"I'm fine, you know me, I don't do too well with trinkets anyway," The man finally became aware of the two other people standing nearby, the taxi paid and gone. "Ah. Who are these gentlemen?" Hannah brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"This is Doctor John Watson, and Mister Sherlock Holmes." Hannah walked over to the two. "John, Sherlock, this is Arthur, he lives in town, owns the grocery." John shook hands with Arthur, while Sherlock stood brooding in the background, examining the old man who stood a few feet away.

"You're rather agile for an older gentleman aren't you?" Sherlock's voice was deep and accusing.

"Sherlock." Hannah nudged him in the ribs, Sherlock didn't flinch.

"I keep myself well. The Missus put me on this diet," Sherlock looked at smiling Hannah and then Arthur. Sherlock then nodded.

"So you will be staying just in town then?" Arthur nodded and gave Sherlock a wary smile.

"Lucy would love to have you over for dinner before you go." Hannah nodded and gave Arthur another hug.

"I'll be sure to stop in, I'll have to pick up some gorceries anyway." Arthur gave Hannah a smile and with the tip of his hat he was down the steps and climbing into his tiny car.

"Must you put off everyone you meet?" Hannah glared as Arthur pulled off. She snatched her bag from the steps and walked into the house, "Sherlock, really? He's the nicest man I've ever met and all he did was make sure the house was being run right and you have to go saying things to make everything so awkward." She dropped her bag in the foyer. Hands on her hips, she turned to the two men standing in her doorway. John was closing the doors behind him as Sherlock spoke.

"How long have you known him?" Hannah rolled her eyes.

"My whole life, why does it matter? He runs the grocery. Gave me candies when my Nana wasn't looking." John laughed.

"Your Nana?"

"I couldn't say Nanny quite yet, I named her otherwise. It just stuck." Hannah sighed, "Let me show you to your rooms."

The manor was cleaned spotless, the inside of the house more brightly decorated than the outside. The hardwood floors waxed and shining with a large area rug in the foyer leading up to a large staircase. Hannah led them up the stairs and to the right. The door at the end of the hall to the right was made of dark mahogany, the polished ornate doorknob.

"This is mine," She directed at the door. "Those two," She pointed to the one on the left of her room and across the hall from hers, "Are yours, it doesn't really matter who takes which room." Sherlock pushed passed her and entered her bedroom. He sniffed the air, checked under the bed, searched the closet and dresser drawers. "Looking for bombs?"

"Or something of that nature." Sherlock stood on the desk chair and peered into the wall vent, shining down a light he pulled from his pocket.

"Well if you're done I would like to unpack, you can go search the rest of the house." She pushed Sherlock out of her room and closed the door to John and his mumbling. Sighing she looked at her bedroom, wiped clean from years of neglect, her furniture shined just as it did when she left. The bed sheets changed, pillows fluffed, the bed looked so inviting. She kicked her bag over and crawled into the bed sighing, buring herself in the sheets, she stared at the ceiling. Her eyes grew wide. She screamed.

**.**

"You really want to investigate Arthur?" John walked with Sherlock as Sherlock was checking rooms.

"Yes, he's known the family long enough, he works just in town, lives just in town, it'd be good to start there." John sighed.

"He seemed really genuine though."

"So did your limp, but honestly..." Sherlock closed the door to the pantry and re-entered the kitchen.

"I guess we should then... you want to go into town and question the residents?" Sherlock nodded.

"Only one of us can go, the other has to stay here with Hannah." John opened his mouth to talk. "I'll stay with Hannah this afternoon, and you can go to the grocery, look for anything suspicious."

"I don't think that's such a good idea." Sherlock stopped and turned to John.

"Why not?" John shrugged.

"You tell me, Hannah isn't exactly fond of you at the moment. Why is that?" Sherlock didn't have time to answer, Hannah's scream turned them both around and they took off to the stairs. Taking them two at a time they burst into Hannah's room and found her sitting in her closet, head on her knees, knees to her chest, crying. John knelt down beside her, "Hannah what happened?" Sherlock checked the windows and looked back at the crying girl.

"The top of the canopy." Hannah raised her head. She glared at Sherlock. "You didn't check the top of the canopy. The two men walked to the bed and looked up at the canopy. Blood red paint spelled out:

**YOU'RE NEXT LITTLE ONE. **

Sherlock nodded and pulled out his phone, snapping pictures of the writing, he then stored it back in his pocket. "We are going into town." John helped Hannah from the ground. The pair followed Sherlock from the room.

"What will going into town do about this?" Hannah stopped Sherlock. Sherlock turned to her,

"We're going to go question your beloved Arthur. He was the last one in the house, plenty of time to do it."

"You don't honestly think Arthur would do something to hurt me? My family?" Hannah stopped at the top of the stairs as Sherlock and John stopped at the bottom.

"I don't know him very well Miss Winters and fact remains that you might not either. He was the last one here, he knew your family and from what I can tell he was very close with your family." Sherlock walked halfway up and kept steady eye contact with Hannah. "You hired me to solve this case, if ideed it was him, wouldn't we need to know? You are getting more ill by the day, the sooner we solve this case, the better chance we have at saving your life. We have a week left. There is no time to waste." By this time Sherlock had turned around and Hannah had given in, joining them at the bottom of the steps. "Where does Arthur live, Miss Winters?" Hannah directed him to a house a little ways off the main road, down the street from Gregg's Grocery, the family owned shop.

"He would most likely be at the shop though so-"

"John, would you please go talk to Mrs. Gregg." John stood slack jawed.

"What am I supposed to say?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Say you're with the police, army veteran, anything that she would seem accomodating to." John sighed and nodded. He patted Hannah on the shoulder before walking down the road to the Gregg household.

"Please, please Sherlock, don't make a scene." Sherlock smirked slightly. "No!" Hannah grabbed his arm and stalled his walking. "You really can't, these aren't London folk, these people will not hesitate to have you arrested if you mess things up, Lestrade won't be able to help you out here. Not for a while anyway..." Sherlock walked on without word.

A bell chimed as they entered the shop. The very few people who were making purchases stopped and looked up at the pair who had just entered. A mother took her son's hand and drug him down the aisle, out of sight, a larger man stood opposite Arthur who was working the register, and a young girl clutching a basket with both hands looked up and paled. Hannah looked up at Sherlock who looked as intimidating as ever. His face like stone, eyes scanning his enviroment, hands clasped behind his back. Hannah nudged him in the ribs. "You're scaring people." She whispered. Sherlock picked up a basket and handed it to Hannah.

"Get what we'll need, I'll be talking to Mr. Gregg." Hannah sighed, but nodded and walked over to the small area of produce, glancing back to Sherlock every so often. His face changed upon reaching Arthur, a more relaxed, smiling Sherlock greeted him. His deep voice carried over the small shop, letting Hannah listen in. "I'm so sorry for how I acted earlier, you see... I'm a consulting detective and-"

"Consulting detective? I've never heard of such a thing." She could almost see Sherlock's head inflating.

"I'm the only one in the world." She looked up from placing a can of soup in the basket to see the smirk on Sherlock's face. "For instance, you've been cheating with your diet." Sherlock pointed to his pants. "Grease from some sort of fried food, most likely chips seeing as there is a shop right next door, your waistline is a little snug, you adjust it ever so often in attempt to be more comfortable. That's just one thing. There is so much more." Sherlock smirked at the older man's expression. "So much more I could tell..." Arthur waved his hand to stop the detective.

"So you're not Hannah's boyfriend?" Hannah's heart dropped into her stomach as she looked at Sherlock, wondering what he would say next.

"I never said that." He smiled. "We met a few months ago. She's beautiful, couldn't resist." Sherlock looked over at Hannah and her eyes darted back down to the canned vegtables.

"That she is. Looks just like her Mother." Arthur sighed. "So she told you about her family?"

"Yes, which is why I insisted on coming down and helping solve this geat mystery. Give her some closure about it before the big day." Sherlock chuckled and Hannah's grip tightened on the basket.

"Big day?" Arthur asked. Hannah placed bread on top of the other items in her basket and slowly walked to the front.

"Ah, yes. We're getting married." Hannah's eyes wide, she looked to Sherlock who in turn winked at her. She shook her head, but promptly stopped when Arthur turned to her with a smile.

"Married! Well, isn't that exciting?" Hannah placed her basket on the counter between Sherlock and Arthur. Sherlock quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulder pulling her close. Hannah faked a smile, figuring that if Sherlock was doing this he had good reason. "I didn't see a ring though." Hannah looked to Sherlock and spoke,

"We haven't really gotten that far yet, we wanted to keep it secret for a little while." Hannah's hand rested between Sherlock's shoulder blades and she leaned into him. Arthur nodded accepting the response.

"Well... we will definitely would love to have you both over for dinner." Arthur smiled. "What about the other person you were with?" Arthur looked at Sherlock. "If you came down here to solve this case then the other lad was here to help, I take it?"

"Right you are sir." Sherlock nodded. Hannah cut in before Sherlock could say any more.

"How much will it be Arthur?" Arthur looked down into the basket, he looked at Hannah and smiled.

"For you? Free." Hannah shook her head.

"I really-"

"Thank you so much Arthur-" Hannah dug her nails into Sherlock's back, she could see him looking at her questioningly from the corner of her eye.

"But we really couldn't do that." Hannah finished, she pulled her wallet from her pocket.

"Are you really going to make her pay for these, if she insists on paying?" Arthur looked accusingly at Sherlock and Hannah bit her lip. "I swear your generation has lost all of the chilvary. Has your mother taught you no manners?"

"Arthur, really, it's fine." Hannah's hand dropped from Sherlock's back as she pulled out the pound notes and handed them to Arthur.

"I'll be seeing you two soon. Yes?" Hannah nodded and with that her and Sherlock left the store. She glared up at the man and smacked him on the arm once they were a good distance away.

"You just don't know when to stop, do you?"

"What do you mean?" Hannah scoffed.

"Like you don't know. We're getting married? You couldn't have just told him that I hired you?" Sherlock shook his head.

"If he is indeed the man I am looking for, then he will come after me as well. I wasn't as confident that he would if I were as loosley attached as dating, but marriage. If it's him, then he will try to murder me as well. To do that would mean they would have to come into contact me with me at some point and that would make it easier for me to catch them in the act." Hannah stared at Sherlock blankly.

"Huh..." She nodded. "That's... that's actually quite brilliant." Sherlock smirked.

"Thank you, I thought so."


	5. 005 Sickness

**-Alright, just to clarify things. This takes place after the Pool Scene but before Irene Adler. Just to make you see what kind of time period this is in. I'm going to loosely hold onto the plot from Scandal - Reichenbach. Only using the major plot points. If there is one thing I can't stand it's when people write the television show into a story, so all the scenes (for the most part) will be completely original, just keeping in mind the actual plot. To go along with this I will reiterate what I said before, if you have any guesses as to the who, what, and why let me know. That'll be all. Enjoy.-**

**Ashley Marie  
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**{005}**

Sickness.

Hannah sat in the library. The large clock to her right ticking away, the bells chimed once. She sunk down into the cushions of the sofa and wrapped her arms around herself. The ornate carved table in front of her books were opened to various pages, those pages all showing a torn out page between them. She wondered if Sherlock or John were awake. Sitting upright, she shivered as her feet hit the cold hardwood. She threw a few logs into the fireplace, leaning against the mantle, throwing lit matches on the logs until they caught fire. She walked from the room and saw light peaking from under Sherlock's door. She stood in front of it for a moment and knocked.

"Come in." Opening the door she saw Sherlock leaning over the desk, the canopy to her bed before him. "Why aren't you in bed?" He wasn't looking at her. He was examining the red paint. She shrugged.

"Can't sleep. I've been in the library trying to find out any information about poisons and the like." Sherlock nodded.

"What have you found?" She bit her lip.

"You should come see for yourself." Sherlock's eyebrows raised and he followed the small girl out of the room. The fire was crackling, heating the room and she showed him the books set out on the table. "All of these books, everything my father had on poisons, toxins anything... they're all missing one page." Sherlock ran his thumb against the straight cut edge of the paper left behind.

"They were cut out with an extractor knife." He showed her a book. "Straight cut with a heavy hand, the knife went through to the next page, the person who did this is seeming to be male." Hannah situated herself on the chair closest to the fire and watched as Sherlock circled the table, flipping through the books. "Has the irritation spread?" Hannah nodded.

"Yes..." Hannah looked down on her hands and wrists where small blotches were visible. She sensed Sherlock move and he sat in the chair opposite her.

"Let me see." Hannah held out her hand. Sherlock's hand grasped hers, the coldness giving her goosebumps. His fingers ran over the slightly raised pink skin. "How are your legs?" Hannah shrugged.

"They've gotten worse. It's gotten difficult to find any clear skin." Hannah's eyes were watering and she fought to keep the tears back. "I only have a week left, Sherlock. If that." Sherlock froze hearing the despair that laced her voice. Sherlock had to remind himself that she was in fact a human, and she might die. She wasn't a science experiment. She wasn't a challenge. She was a girl. A very scared girl. Sherlock stood and walked back to the table.

"You should go to bed. Rest will do you some good." Sherlock sat at the table and flipped through the first book. "I'll figure out which page is missing." Hannah stood silently and left the room. Once Sherlock was certain she was in her room he walked to John's room and opened the door.

"Get up." He called into the room. A groan soon followed. John sat up on his elbows, glaring at the light pouring in from the hallway.

"Sherlock, it's..." He checked his watch on the nightstand, "it's two in the morning."

"It's important. Come to the library." John groaned once more and fell back onto the bed, but giving in to Sherlock's request. He found Sherlock leaning over a pile of books, another pile sat opposite him along with a chair John assumed was for himself. "Miss Winters, during her research, found these books on poisons all with one page missing. I'm trying to make a connection."

"Then what did you need me for?" John yawned and looked around the large room.

"I needed to ask you something." John paused and turned his gaze back to Sherlock.

"What type of something?" Sherlock shut his current book and moved on to the next one.

"Do you find Miss Winters attractive?" John stared at Sherlock, long enough that Sherlock looked up from his book to see John staring at him increduliously.

"Are you serious?"

"If I wasn't serious I wouldn't be asking the question." Sherlock flipped through the pages of the book. "Do you find Miss Winters attractive?"

"Why? Do you?" Sherlock scoffed.

"I'm married to my work remember? No time for other relationships." John shook his head.

"That doesn't mean you can't find a woman attractive. You must have fancied someone in school at least." Sherlock shook his head.

"No time for that." John sighed as Sherlock moved onto the next book.

"You had no time to fancy someone?" Sherlock agreed. "You like Hannah."

"No." Sherlock shut the book and moved to the next one.

"You're attracted to her at least." Sherlock disagreed. "Then what's with the question?"

"She is getting worse. Soon she wont be able to get out of bed. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, she will needed to be waited on. I was thinking she'd prefer someone who could actually care about her."

"As opposed to?" Sherlock looked into the fire and then back down into the book.

"Me." Sherlock slammed that book shut and opened another one.

"Why this all the sudden? What sparked your interest in this?"

"It's a case, meaning I have to solve it whether or not Han-Miss Winters dies." Sherlock sat back and typed something into his phone. John sighed and rubbed his temples.

"She wont die." John stated.

"She might."

"But she wont." Sherlock looked at his partner.

"She might. It's a possibility that you musnt rule out." John's jaw clenched.

"It's a possibility, but I wont let it happen. It can't happen." John opened a book. "What are we looking for?" Sherlock looked at John.

"Similarities, chapter contents, context, anything that could show us what type of poison it is. If we could find out what type it is, then we could figure out what poison it is by looking at her symptoms thus finding the cure." John searched the pages of the book set out before him.

"If you didn't care you wouldn't be doing this." John mumbled and Sherlock pretended to not hear him.

**.**

Hannah sat on her bed hours later, her body weak and her legs sore she pulled out her lotion. Applying it weakly, she then pulled the covers back and slipped between the sheets, groaning. Her body felt as though she had been exercising for two weeks nonstop. Her skin felt as though it were set aflame, the lotion the only thing soothing the burning skin. She cried. The pain was almost unbearable. She pushed the covers from her body and screamed. The pain woke her, the excruciating pain. The pain roused her from bed and called her to the shower, the cold water icing down the burn.

"John! Sherlock!" She screamed. John was in the room seconds later. Hannah was sobbing and he didn't know what to do.

"Hannah, what's happening?" He sat Hannah up and helped her stand.

"It hurts, so much." She cried. "It burns." Her body was shaking. John looked down at her. Her legs red and inflamed long scratches and blood. Her hands red almost up to her elbows. Her neck saw the beginning of the inflammation and she cried as his hands hovered over her arms. Sherlock entered the room seconds later stopping at the door way. His eyes concentrated on her body. He nodded.

"Do you need anything from town?" John glared at Sherlock, as Sherlock's eyes avoided Hannah's face as if any glimpse of her tears would collapse his cool demeanor. She choked on a sob, knees growing weak John held onto her shoulders.

"No." John blocked Sherlock's view. Sherlock then turned and left, leaving John to tend to Hannah.

**.**

Collar upturned, eyes set in an intimidating stare, Sherlock walked past the grocery owned by Mister Arthur Gregg and into the little diner. He took a booth seat, making sure he could see all of the diner's occupants. A woman, the same woman from the grocery store with her child having breakfast on the other side of the diner. Single mom, recently divorced, farm owner. A large man gobbling a fry up sat a few yards away. Crumby hands going from fork to coffee mug, back to fork. He eats the same thing every morning. Routine had become routine since becoming a fisherman. He had just come in from a haul. What caught Sherlock's attention was a group of three, very chatty, old women sitting to his left, at the booths opposite his. If he were to get information anywhere, it would be from a gossiping group of old ladies.

"Hi. I'm just passing through and I was wondering if you could tell me about that large house just outside of town?" Sherlock joined the women and the first started to speak.

"That's the Winters' Estate, that is." She said. The other women nodded. "A shame really. That poor family dropped like flies."

"What happened?" Another of the three women shook her head.

"Some say they were poisoned, some say bad blood. Some kind of family disease they all caught it from each other." Whispering, the woman said, "I think, personally, Missus Winters got herself into some trouble. Mister Winters, he built this whole town y'know? Everything you see here he owned. He liked to be close to his money, that oil rig a few miles to the south, and the mines in the west were all his." The first woman nodded.

"Lots of money, he had. Very kind man, didn't make us pay much for our homes at all, prices were different back then, but he would barter with you, got my home for half of what I would have paid anywhere else I did." The second woman agreed.

"That Missus Winters had her whole family up in that house with them. Her sisters and brothers, their children, her and Mister Winters children, her parents and the lot. Whole family living under one roof. They said that's what did it. The sickness spread starting with Mr. Winters then the Missus, their eldest son, Mrs. Winter's parents and her siblings, the only one who survived it all was that poor little girl. Must be so damaged now, loosing her family that young." Sherlock's fist clenched under the table, before he swallowed and spoke.

"What kind of trouble did Mrs. Winters get into, do you know?" The first old woman sighed.

"The Missus had a... craving for very fine things. Very, very fine things. Such fine things that Mister Winters wouldn't put up the money for. She had her own little list of debt that Mister Winters didn't know about. She wasn't the only one with secrets though, that's the thing. Everyone knew she did something to get those pretty jewels around her neck, no one knew what until after she was dead. That family is full of secrets. It could be that they all got twisted in some kind of web where everything could be traced back to one source. One person that the Winters had crossed who sought out revenge." The woman shrugged. "No one really knows, I don't think we ever will know." Sherlock nodded and thanked the women before leaving the diner.

The town hall was to his right, and he took the path towards it. _What kind of secrets was Hannah hiding? Did Hannah even know?_

**.**

The sobbing girl had falled asleep a half hour ago. Her legs and arms wrapped with gauze from John's medical bag. He sat in the library going over the books once more. Trying to think as he scanned the pages. They were all about poisons taken orally. A few that were supposed to be injected. A few that were inhaled. "How did you get poisoned? How did they all get poisoned?" John mumbled. He sighed and leant back in the chair, resting his hands on his thighs he closed his eyes for a moment.

As a doctor there was this pressure, this thought that he could not let her die. She was his patient now, she was his friend. He couldn't at all costs let her die. Standing up from the table he walked to the door, pausing as he noticed something from the corner of his eye. He turned and faced a book that seemed to be standing out from the rest on the bookshelf behind a round table in the back of the room. He pulled the book from the bookshelf and it fell open in his hand. The book was hollow. Pages cut out in a rectangle in the middle, in that empty space lay one object. He took his phone out of his pocket and held down the '2' speed dial.

"Sherlock. You need to get back here. Now."


	6. 006 Keys

**-I am so sorry it took so long to update. I have been really busy. Anyways, this is kind of important, so I hope you read this and not just skip over it. Two points.**

**1) This is where the story starts earning its M Rating. This chapter contains some sexual content. **

**2) I am thinking of writing a Moriarty story. If I do, it will pair up with this story. It will also be an OC. It will follow this same time line with both OCs meeting Post-Reichenbach. If you think this is a good idea, if you would read it, let me know.**

**So that's basically it. Along with if you want to take any guesses, there is something major in this chapter concerning the case that I would like to hear your thoughts on. Thanks for reading!-**

**Ashley Marie**

**{006}**

Keys

A key. It was bronze and worn, many times had it been turned in a lock that had yet to be found. Hannah still resting in the other room the two men stared at the key. The taller brooding man unmoving, the shorter man sat tapping his fingers waiting for his friend to start deducting and figuring out this mystery, unfurling the secrets that lie behind a bronze key that wasn't meant to be found. The book it had been found in lay hollowed out on the table next to the key. Sherlock stood with his hands pressed together, before pacing. A rapid pacing that almost made John's head spin. "How many days do we have left?" John looked from the key to his friend.

"How many-" Sherlock looked at John and it dawned on him, he nodded. "How many days before she... okay. About three, four at the most." Sherlock nodded.

"The key is too small for a door, big enough for maybe a safe, a box of some sort. Safety security box, the type you would find at a bank. There are no banks in the immediate area leading for me to believe that it belongs to a safe. A safe where... her father must have an office, this is his office... but," He paused and looked at John. He then looked around the room for anything that would catch his attention. He nodded. "Somewhere in the house, there is a safe which this key belongs to. First I'll check the parent's room, then grandparent's room. Those are the most probable places. After that... we'll have to wake Han- Miss Winters."

"Why?" John asked. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Hannah. Rest at this point was the only thing helping her. Waking her up would cause him too much pain. It would cause her too much pain.

"I have to ask her a few questions, in the mean time why don't you go to the pharmacy in town and get something to help her cope with the pain." John rolled his eyes and looked down the hallway to the shut door behind which Hannah lay asleep.

"What will you do if she wakes up?" He looked back to Sherlock who picked the key up and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Sherlock shrugged.

"What do you usually do in situations like this?" John sighed.

"If she wakes up get her in the bath, and you'll have to rewrap her legs and arms. Maybe her stomach. My bag is in my room." Sherlock shook his head.

"No. I can't do that." John looked at Sherlock incredulously.

"You can and you will, if she wakes up you have to take care of her."

"I'm not a doctor, John." John turned to walk out the door smiling. "John I can't do that." John continued to walk down the hallway. "John!" He had to repress a chuckle as he walked down the steps and out the front door. "John!" Sherlock yelled. The name echoed through the empty house followed by the sigh of the aggravated detective. Sherlock stared at Hannah's door listening for any movement. Once he was satisfied the girl was still asleep he walked from the room and down the hallway to the elder Winters bedroom. The whole of it was covered in white sheets giving the room an horror movie feeling. The grey light from a dark sky poured into the room casting dark shadows on the walls. He pulled the sheet off of the night stand and opened the drawers finding them still full of the pervious owners contents. He paused staring at what appeared to be Mr. Winters personal objects.

In the drawer there lay a white gold wristwatch, very expensive and personalized to an A. W. Winters. There also was a small notebook, a newspaper and a textbook on chemistry. He started with the notebook, flipping it open and scanning the contents briefly. It listed nothing more than a few herbs and Sherlock gave it no thought, sitting it on top of the night stand he pulled out the chemistry book and flipped through the pages. It was old, written in the early 19th century. Hand written and worn. Some of the ink was smudged by oily hands. He could barely read the writing, he placed it on the night stand for later use and opened the next drawer finding it empty.

**.**

"40, please." The woman behind the counter stared at the doctor oddly as she nodded. She walked from the counter to the back room. John Watson tapped his fingers on his legs as he stared on awkwardly, looking at the other items on the counter. He wondered if Hannah had woken up yet, she had been sleeping a very long time and bound to wake up before he returned. He hoped Sherlock would step up and take care of her. Sherlock's hidden attraction to the brown haired female was going to be tested. Leaving her in the care of his frigid friend could maybe warm him up to the idea of her as a woman and not just a case. Sherlock's emotional attachment to her might in turn make him easier to live with. John liked Hannah, if Sherlock were to be with anyone, he figured, it should be the sweet girl.

The woman returned with a brown bag and the bottle of medication for Hannah. "Here you are," the woman handed him the bag, "Do you mind me asking what these are for?" She paused. "It's just that you don't seem to be in any pain, and while it's none of my business I'm just curious." The woman was older, middle aged, with blonde hair masking gray hair that would be forming by this point. John cleared his throat.

"My friend is in a great deal of pain right now. I'm her doctor so..." The woman nodded as John pulled out his money and handed her a few bills.

"Her?" John looked at the older woman and found himself uneasy. He wondered what Sherlock would do in this type of situation. The woman's dark brown eyes bore into his and his mouth opened and closed quickly.

"Yes. My friend is female." The woman put the money in the register and looked back up at him.

"If it's Miss Winters you're helping... you might as well not." Her voice was harsh and John frowned.

"What is your name?" She shook her head and gripped the counter.

"They all died, the lot of them and while everyone acted as though they were shocked, but no one was." She frowned, "No one was shocked and not a one wasn't happy to see them go. The children... those children didn't deserve it some would say, but they would turn out just like their parents." Her jaw was clenched and she glared at the man across from her.

"What is your name?" John's voice was tense. He knew he couldn't just outright ask her if she had done it. He knew that would give her a chance to leave and if she had in fact done it, Sherlock would never forgive him for letting her get away.

"Dr. Watson, how are you dear?" The voice of Mrs. Gregg broke the tension between him and the pharmacist, his eyes moved to the older woman who had just entered. The woman was short and slightly plump, her clear blue eyes glaring at the woman behind the counter before moving to John and softening. "Don't listen to Mrs. Thorne," She glared at the woman and hooked her arm in John's. "I was just walking by and saw you in the shop, I was wondering if you all need anything up at that old house." The two exited the shop, with John glancing back to 'Mrs. Thorne' to find her gone. He looked at Mrs. Gregg and shook his head.

"We're just fine, thank you though Mrs. Gregg." Mrs. Gregg nodded and continued walking with the young doctor.

"How is she?" Her voice was low, almost in a whisper, her eyes looking up at him in clear concern. John nodded slowly before saying,

"It's gotten worse, it's hurting her to move now." The woman frowned and looked down on the ground at the worn dirt path they were walking on.

"How about I make you all some soup, it's good for the soul you know?" Mrs. Gregg motioned to the basket held in her other arm. "I just bought all the supplies, and I know one that she used to love when she was a child."

"That's really not necessary. Sherlock doesn't eat while he's on a case and I don't know if Hannah will be able to keep anything down." Mrs. Gregg frowned, but nodded.

"I hope you boys figure out what's making her so sick. It would be a shame for her to go as well." Mrs. Gregg and John reached her front door. "Do you have any idea what it could be?" John shrugged.

"We haven't a clue. We only have a few days left I think. I'm hoping we find this out before then." Mrs. Gregg pulled John into a hug, John's eyes widened, but he returned the hug to the now shaking woman. She quickly released him and straightened her long skirt before nodding.

"It was nice to see you Dr. Watson. Please, if you need anything at all Arthur and I would be more than happy to help." Her voice was soft and head hung low before she turned and entered her house closing the door behind her. John closed his eyes and rubbed his temples before turning and making his way back to the house. He paused slightly and nodded once before turning in the opposite direction. Sherlock would have to deal with Hannah for a few moments longer while he figured something out.

**.**

Hannah groaned, her eyes snapping open as she felt the burning pain emanating from her skin. She cried out, "John!" She whimpered and curled as far into herself as possible. "John!" She called once more. She heard the door knob squeak as it turned and her red eyes found Sherlock's stiff form peering at her from the doorway. "Where's John?" Sherlock moved slowly across the room to her as if any faulty step would cause her immense pain.

"He went into town to get you some pain medication, in the meantime I was told to care for you." Hannah cried as the pain grew, whimpering afterward Sherlock felt awkward and out of place. "He told me to start your bath... which I'll go do. Are you able to wait? Do you want to stand?" She looked at him with a look that he looked to the bathroom to avoid.

"I'll be fine until then, cold water please." Her voice was weak and caused an odd feeling in Sherlock's chest. Hannah watched as Sherlock moved to the bathroom, the tub was in direct view from the open doorway so she was able to watch as he leant over the tub and turned the faucet for the cold water also turning the hot water on only slightly, testing the water with his hand before plugging the drain. She watched as he stared at the water filling the tub. She had never seen him look so human. His steel blue eyes were softer under the fluorescent light, his composure was sagging slightly, he looked drained from exhaustion, but was trying to hide it. His usually tight shirt was slightly loose from the weight loss that came with not eating for the past few days.

He licked his lower lip slightly and turned his eyes to her. When he met her she looked more alive than she did now. Her hair had lost its luster, her eyes were glassy and red. Her lips were chapped and swollen from her constant biting. She was gripping the sheets tightly in fist, showing her immense pain, but her face was calm and complacent. He couldn't read what she was thinking and he grew uncomfortable. Her wrapped legs were pulled up to her chest and her eyes fluttered closed slowly before opening once more. He looked back down into the tub and turned the faucets off before feeling the water once more. While the water was cold, it wasn't chilling. He walked back to her in the bedroom and offered his hand. She took his hand gently and his other hand found her bicep, he felt another weird feeling in his chest he couldn't place.

He helped her into a sitting position and stopped when he heard her whimper. She looked up to his slightly widened eyes and nodded, he helped her slowly stand and she groaned as her sore feet hit the floor. "You'll have to help me take the bandages off as well." Sherlock nodded and looked back to the bathroom to see how far he would have to walk her. He held onto her upper arm as he walked by her side to the doorway of the bathroom where her legs finally gave in. He caught her around the waist before she fell to the ground. The pain was shocking and Hannah cried out, a choked sob followed along with a new string of tears. Sherlock wasn't aware what to do in this situation but mumble 'I'm sorry' repeatedly. She looked over at him standing beside her, "It's alright, would have been worse if I fell." Her thinly bandaged hand was wrapped around his forearm and she felt the muscles tense as he lifted her back to a standing position. Her heart fluttered slightly and she swallowed.

"A few more feet, can you make it?" She nodded weakly. His arm stayed protectively around her waist incase she fell again. He felt her stomach muscles tense. "I'm-" He pulled her quickly to the toilet and helped her lean over it as she began to gag. He swiped her hair from around her face as she gripped the edges of the toilet and spewed the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. "It hurts so much." She cried, resting her head on her arm. She started crying, he rubbed circles on her back remembering an article he had read earlier on how to comfort someone. He knew she would be crying just as she had been the night before and wasn't ready to handle that awkward situation again. Comfort wasn't something he had come into contact with often and he definitely didn't know how to comfort a crying female whose life depended on his deduction skills.

It dawned on him that she put her trust into him when she asked him to take the case. She trusted her life to a complete stranger and she is depending solely on him to make sure she lives to see her birthday. She's depending on him to see the sun rise four days from now. He quietly spoke, "I know. We have to get you into the bath." Sherlock flushed the toilet and moved to help her up. She shook as he wrapped his hands around her biceps, helping her from kneeling.

"Grab my towel." He sat her on the edge of the tub and grabbed the fluffy blue fabric from the towel rack. "You'll have to take the bandages off after I undress, unfortunately." She tried to chuckle, but it came out weak and she whimpered slightly afterward. Sherlock felt another odd feeling, lower on his anatomy. He grit his teeth and tried to shake off a feeling once described to him against his will by his older brother. He held up the towel and looked away as Hannah pulled off her cotton shorts and top. He heard both fabrics hit the floor and felt his throat constrict slightly. He felt his breathing slightly increase and could almost feel his heart pounding in his ears. He heard more fabric hitting the floor and she grabbed the towel from his hands and wrapped it around her front. He turned his eyes back to her. She looked up at him and he felt a pang in his chest as he stared back into her glassy eyes.

"I have to get gloves," He walked from the room swiftly and into John's room to grab his medical bag. He paused standing over it and shook his head as if he was going to shake everything he had just experienced away. He took a few deep breaths and grabbed John's medical bag before returning to Hannah. He stared at the frail girl who stared at her wrapped toes. He cleared his throat and knelt on the floor in front of her grabbing the edge of the gauze. He pulled the trash can closer to him before peeling it back. He worked his way up her left leg, removing the bandage as gently as possible.

Hannah stared at the dark haired man as his nimble fingers peeled back the thing keeping her legs from the stinging air. Her embarrassment that the first man to almost see her naked would be a man she hired, paired with the fact she had enormous welts and sores covering every inch of her bandaged skin. She closed her eyes tightly as he peeled off the last of the bandage ending just where the towel began. She heard the bandage hit the liner and he returned to the other leg. She could hear her heart beat in her ears and she started shaking as the second roll of bandages was removed. "Are you alright?" He asked. He mistook her nervousness for pain and he leant back on his heels. She nodded and gripped the edge of the bath with one hand, the other gripping the top of the towel. "Give me your arm." She lifted her arm from the lip of the tub and he slowly unwrapped her arm, revealing the same type of skin that was revealed on her legs. He took mental notes of the types of abrasions found on her skin along with the long vertical scratches that adorned them. Taking them off went more quickly than the ones on her legs and soon they were tossed into the trash. Sherlock stood awkwardly and held up the towel once more, looking away as Hannah slowly submersed herself in the bath. She sighed in contentment as her head fell against the back. She looked up at Sherlock who stood awkwardly by the side of the tub. "I'm in, you can go sit on the bed, that's what John does."

It then dawned on Sherlock as he walked from the room to sit on her bed, that John had been doing this before him. John had done this three times. He began to wonder if John had ever looked over the towel while Hannah wasn't paying attention. While her skin wasn't as beautiful and clear as it was when they had met, she was still a beautiful girl and he doubted any of the inflammation had spread to her- Sherlock shook his head and looked back up at the girl whose head was visible over the lip of the tub, her eyes staring blankly at the wall in front of her. He shook the thoughts of her being beautiful from his head. He shook the thoughts of the skin of her thighs when he had made it known to her that he knew about her sickness. He shook the odd stirring feeling in his lower abdomen away and quickly tried to gain composure as her head turned to look at him. "Do you have family?" She asked. He nodded his head. Her tongue darted from her mouth an moistened her lower lip. She then asked, "Do you see them often?"

"My brother, Mycroft, works with the government. He's always involved with everything in some way, it's hard to avoid him entirely." She nodded and asked another question.

"Why do you want to avoid him?" He heard the water slosh about. "If my brothers were still alive, I would see them all the time." She smiled. "Maybe not all the time, once a week maybe. At least. We would still have Sunday dinners though." She gripped the edge of the tub and turned over, resting her cheek on it. "Mum loved Sunday dinners. That was the meal she always cooked. Sunday was the day the help had off. So Mum would start cooking in the morning. She would make a dessert, an appetizer, and a main course. The appetizer would always be these really weird finger foods, like... things that shouldn't be appetizers." She was smiling, eyes glassed over, he knew she was going to cry. "Like peanut butter sandwiches. Or chocolate covered pickles, something weird like that." She laughed. "The main course would always be different, one week she made pizza, the next pasta, all of these quirky different recipes. When we had pasta this one time Mum made it the dessert. She put out sundae toppings with it, and then the 'dessert' would be a meat pie." She started crying. "My Nana always laughed at her for it, she told her that she's going to rot our teeth with all the sweets she made for us." She stared at Sherlock whose face she couldn't read. He had been listening, but she wondered what was going through his head. His hands were resting between his legs and he was tapping his fingers together. His eyes dropped from hers to the floor and she sighed turning back over, she leant forward and lathered a washcloth.

His eyes moved back up to see her leaning forward, the clear skin of her back showing, he watched her shoulder blades shift as she sat back, he had almost forgotten about her sickness but her grimace reminded him. She whimpered as she lifted her leg up slightly to wash it. He grew increasingly aware of his male anatomy as he watched her face, ignoring the saddening abrasions on her skin. Her lips were full and parted slightly. Her arched eyebrows moved as every expression changed on her face. Her tongue was pressed against her teeth. His face contorted into glare as he felt a welling of emotions never before felt by him. He quickly stood from the bed and sped from the room and into his own leaving a very confused Hannah staring at the wrinkled sheets where he was sitting.

He paced the floor of his room, hands on his hips trying to fight off the aching feeling he felt below his belt. This had never happened before and while Mycroft had explained these sensations to him, much to his displeasure, Mycroft had also told him how to relieve said feelings. Sherlock dashed that probability off and refused to even think about it. He grit his teeth and wondered how long it would take her to finish bathing and need his assistance. He tried to breathe steadily, but felt his pulse escalate. He tried to remind himself that she was sick and this shouldn't be happening. He stared at his phone which resided on the night stand. He thought about calling John, but couldn't stand to hear his smug voice and haughty 'I knew it' while Sherlock described in vague detail of his odd situation. He checked his watch and calculated an eight minute window between now and when she would need him. He sat on the edge of the bed and shifted his weight.

Moments like this is what makes him uncomfortable. He felt unsure of what to do as he stared at his bulging pants. He bit his lower lip and touched his belt buckle before shaking his head and putting his hands on either side of him. He felt an ache and worked open his belt buckle. He sat staring at his pant's button and debated with himself. Checking his watch he saw the eighth minute shift to seven. He quickly unbuttoned them and shifted them lower on his hips, biting his lower lip. He glanced over to the door which was left halfway open and he quickly stood and shut the door as quietly as possible, sitting down on the bed he tried to remember what Mycroft had told him. He shifted his briefs down and looked at the source of the ache. He fought with himself over whether or not he was going to do what he was about to do.

He wrapped his hand around himself and his hips involuntarily jerked upward. His mouth fell open and eyes fluttered closed as he began to stroke himself, his hips moving, mouth ghosting moans he forbid himself to let out. He remembered her sitting in his living room, her cold closed demeanor matching his own. Her lips painted red, her beautiful full lips. He remembered her tongue licking the lip of the tea cup to collect the tiny droplet of liquid left behind. His memory brought up her long legs crossing, hands resting on her thighs, her skirt riding up ever so slightly. He moaned quietly and then reprimanded himself, concentrating back on the task at hand he remembers her biting her bottom lip. Now his mind went off on a different tangent. It was only them in the living room. The lighting dim and he moved towards her slowly, her dark eyes connected with his and she smirked slightly, standing from the chair she met him half way, hands pressed against his chest, she connected her lips with his, running her hands up is chest and around his neck grabbing his hair and biting his lower lip softly. She started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his pants and pushing it off of his shoulders. Hannah grinned and unbuckled his belt, loosening his pants she pushed her hand down and wrapped her hand around his length. Sherlock gasped and bucked his hips. Hannah moved down to kiss his neck, he felt it. This bubbling feeling, his breath came out in gasps and he felt his body tense as immense release washed over him. He sighed and looked down at the mess he made in his lap. He sighed and moved to the bathroom running his hand under the tap he washed it off quickly and changed his pants before walking out of his room. He paused when he reached Hannah's doorway and then walked in.

Hannah sat in the bath, staring at the wall in front of her. When the floor creaked she looked over to Sherlock who stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Are you alright?" Sherlock nodded slowly. His mind was clouded slightly, he felt he was in a daze. He nodded again.

"Yeah. I'm fine."


	7. 007 Leaving

**-All the really positive reviews made me want to update more quickly, so here is Chapter 7. I am still wondering about the Moriarty story. I don't know if I will be posting it or not, the first chapter is already written, if you'd like it, let me know. Enjoy!-**

**Ashley Marie**

**{007}**

Locks

The sting of rejection Hannah felt when Sherlock ran from the room sat heavy in her heart. She justified it by telling herself he had an epiphany or something major that he had to deal with right then. When he had returned he was flustered, which was something Hannah had never seen before. His composure was always cool and collected, a grin here and chuckle there, he was mostly this etheral being who barely blinked.

He seemed disappointed about something. Mentally scolding himself. She asked him if he was alright and he nodded, hands on his hips that he was fine. She stared at him and he stared back at her. He moved to the towel rack, avoiding Hannah's gaze. She grasped the edge of the tub and stood slowly, Sherlock holding the towel up and looking to the right. She stepped out of the bath and wrapped the towel around herself. Sherlock's lips parted slightly before stepping away from her.

"Whose house is that?" She looked up at him. He stood a foot away from her, gazing out a high window that showed the back landscape of the property. She remembered the landscape of their back yard very specifically. The floral arrangements, the stone steps leading down into the pavillion. The statues, the vast green hills and perfectly manicured trees. She remembers laying down on the grass some afternoons with her older sister.

Victora was her name and she was very beautiful. Her hair was a lighter brown than Hannah's, almost blonde and she had fair skin with rosy red lips. Her nose crinkled when she laughed. Hannah remembers laying out on the grass, Victoria twirling her hair into small braids talking something about some boy who she claimed had his eyes on Hannah. A small boy that Hannah would play with, a servant's son, with hair like straw and green eyes. Hannah would roll her eyes and shake her head, telling her sister that she was imagining things.

"That would be the servant's quarters. They lived back on the moor, Mum and Dad took good care of them. It was a family, our servants. A Mother and Father, two sons and a daughter." Sherlock nodded and turned back to Hannah. His eyes strayed from hers and he helped her return back to the bedroom, sitting her down on the bed. He left the room and returned shortly with John's medical bag sitting it on the floor he stared at the contents for a moment.

"John should be back by now." Sherlock looked at his wristwatch. He pulled on gloves and sat back on his heels. took out a roll of bandages and the ointment that John had been applying to Hannah's skin. He frowned, pulling his hand back from the tube and rubbing his fingers together. "Where did John get this?" Hannah shrugged.

"The other day maybe, the last one had begun to run out, He said he ordered it from the pharmacy after he visited Mrs. Gregg." Sherlock stood and took off his glove. He took some of the paste-like substance and rubbed it on his hand, with the other he took out his phone and typed out a text.

"What are you doing?" Hannah asked. Sherlock didn't acknowledge her words, typing away on his blackberry. Hannah stared at his hand where the skin began to slightly discolor. Her mouth parted slightly and closed, frowning. He paced the length of the room, his phone held between his hands, eyes going back to the door ever so often. "It's poison." She felt her throat tighten as the skin on Sherlock's hand turned to an unusual pink color, a bright contrast against his pale skin. Her skin had begun to burn, her bottom lip trembling. She sunk her teeth into it, trying to calm herself down. The footfalls of what she knew to be John Watson grew closer and he entered the room, eyes wide landing on Hannah's almost naked figure, then looking to Sherlock.

"What's going on?"

**. **

"I am so sorry." Hannah lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. John's kind voice filling the empty silence of the room. "I'm so very sorry." Hannah shook her head.

"It's not your fault." Sherlock had gone soon after John had arrived, taking the 'evidence' with him. The look on John's face was heartbreaking. She knew he was upset. She also knew she couldn't do anything to make him feel better about the situation. He had been unwittingly administering poison onto her skin. Sherlock hadn't made him feel any better about it. Sherlock hadn't said anything aloud about it actually, John knew that would be a conversation for later, without Hannah present. Stress would only reduce her immune system to a slow crawl, they needed her body to fend it off as long as possible.

"I should have known, I'm a doctor." John was mumbling to himself now, staring at a spot on the floor in front of him. "I'm supposed to protect people. I was supposed to..." Hannah frowned and turned her head, looking away from him. "I'm going to find Sherlock, maybe he's figured something out about the-the poison. Will you be needing anything?" Hannah shook her head, staring at the light wallpaper as his footsteps faded, the door being shut tightly behind him.

John walked down to the library where Sherlock would most likely be. That is where he found Sherlock, looking at his hand and then looking down at a worn book that he had never seen before. Sherlock's voice was tense. "Did you find nothing suspicious with what you had been giving Hannah?" John frowned and shut the door to the library.

"I didn't think-" Sherlock's head snapped up from the table and glared at John.

"That's right, you didn't think." He let out a heavy sigh and looked back down at the book on the table. "Had you been giving it to her more often she would already been dead." John pinched the bridge of his nose and sat in the chair opposite Sherlock.

"You don't think I know that?" John snapped. "I feel horrible about it and you're going to sit there and tell me things I already know." Sherlock shook his head.

"You should have known, you should have seen it." John rolled his eyes.

"Not everyone has the ablilty to see things like that Sherlock." He glared at his friend from across the table, Sherlock staring down at a passage in the book. "Are we going to go down there? Arrest the woman who owns the pharmacy?" Sherlock shook his head.

"It wasn't her."

"What do you mean it wasn't her?" John looked at Sherlock with surprise. "After everything I told you, it wasn't her." Sherlock looked up from the book.

"She was too honest, word got around that we were here investigating. She wouldn't have told you that if she was the perpetrator." He looked up from the book. "The perpetrator was male, and he had something to do with Miss Winters' Mother. I know that much."

"So do you think it's a lover? She had an affair or-"

"No. Not an affair. From everything I've seen Mister and Missus Winters had a very... loving... relationship." John sighed and leant back in his chair. "Everything points to a debt that Mrs. Winters was hiding." Sherlock gestured to a thick pile of hand written reciepts tied together with a rubberband. "Unsuccessfully hiding, her husband knew about it. At least in the end he knew." John picked up the bundle of small papers. The first one read in a messy scrawl:

_vwl scf _

_20,000 _

Mrs. Winter's signature was also at the bottom. The handwriting different than the letters above it. "The handwriting, other than Mrs. Winters, is from someone unknown. A sales person from a nearby town most likely."

"Not this town?" Sherlock shook his head.

"No one in this town could get their hands on a vucana wool scarf." John flipped to the next reciept and then the next one. The handwriting was all the same for the purchases, Mrs. Winters' faded signature scribbled at the bottom of each.

"So what do you suggest? We go to the next town?" Sherlock shook his head.

"Whoever killed the Winters is in this town, they are close by because they want to see Miss-"

"Hannah." Sherlock looked up questionably. "Her name is Hannah and I think you should start calling her that."

"Why?" John pursed his lips, biting the inside of his cheek.

"You're so distant with her. You're trying to make it seem like she isn't human. She's a girl, Sherlock, and it seems like she's scared. She's scared, but she won't say anything because you're so distant and cold to her." Sherlock's knuckles turned white. He fist was clenched on the table. "You shouldn't pretend that you don't care about her. I'm not a master of deduction, you don't have to be to see it. Some level of you likes her." Sherlock's gaze could have burned a hole in the pages of the book.

"You're a man, Sherlock, and men 'married to their work' or not still notice attractive women." Sherlock's silence encouraged John to continue. "She's helpless and depending on us to save her. She needs us, this isn't one of your cases where everything is a game and it's 'Let's see what buttons I can push to make the murderer come after me so I can pick his brain'." John's voice had risen. His face flushing with anger.

"She's dying down the hall and you're running off and not answering questions and ignoring." At this point he was yelling. Sherlock's eyes were still glued to the book, his fist clenched on the table, fingernails beginning to cut the palm of his hand.

"You're such an ass, all the time." John stood. "If there was any remorse, any feeling, any ability to be compassionate and empathetic, now would be the time to step up and be a nice guy." John walked to the door to the library and turned back around to Sherlock. "She's really nice and if I could take a guess, I would say she likes you too." He left the room and Sherlock's fist unfurled, small half moon cuts were on the palm of his hand.

Hannah heard John's door slam. "One... two... three..." She whispered. "Four... five... six..." She pressed her palms against the sheets and pushed herself up to a sitting position, grimacing. "Seven..." She swung one leg over the edge of the bed, "Eight..." and then the other, "Nine..." She grabbed the pair of jeans she had discarded days earlier and slowly pulled them over her legs. "Ten." She slowly walked to her dresser and slowly opened it, pulling out a pair of socks. She slid them onto her feet, followed by her trainers and pulled a long piece of wood from under the bed that she had stowed there.

The cane she had found in her grandfather's room, and had kept it in preperation for the time she wouldn't be able to walk on her own. She grabbed her jacket and slowly pulled it on, pressing her ear against the door. She waited a few seconds and then slowly opened the door, peering out into the hallway she saw it empty. She slowly walked from her room, closing the door behind her, to the back entrance of the kitchen.

She knew if she walked along the tree line, a few rows in, she wouldn't be visible from the windows of the manor. She mumbled "Helpless." Trecking on slowly into the woods towards the house in the back of the moor. "I will not be a helpless girl who needs saving." She moved slowly, catching her balance on tree trunks and whimpering with the pain of her skin's friction on the cloth of her jeans.

She stepped onto the stone pathway leading up to the house and bent over slowly, moving a few rocks and picking up a dirt covered key. She opened the door with some effort, grunting. The wood had swollen over time, leaving the frame creaky and the doors took effort to open and close. She shut the door behind her and looked around the room, frowning. The cottage was too clean. She was told by Arthur that the whole estate was abandoned after she had gone, but the rooms were too clean. The furniture polished, the smell of wood varnish permiating off the table in the kitchen. She pressed her finger tips to the surface and found it slightly oily. "What are you doing here?" She turned quickly, instantly regretting her decision as she cried out in pain, almost collapsing. She would have hit the floor if the man who startled her hadn't caught her. "Here... sit down." The table chair was pulled out behind her and he sat her down. She looked up at the man through watery eyes. "What are you doing here Hannah?" His voice was sad. She couldn't place him in her memories.

"What are you doing in this house?" The man stepped back from her and flipped on the kitchen light.

"It's... it's where I grew up. I think I have the right to still live here." Her lips parted slightly and she looked at the floor.

"Jacob?" Looking back up at the man he pulled out two mugs from the cabinet above the stove and placed them in front of her. His hair was still as curly and unruly as she remembered, she used to threaten him with her hair brush. His eyes seemed to have brightened over time, the dark forest green from when they were children had lightened into a brighter, more electric color. He set the kettle on to boil and sat down in front of her.

"I've missed you so much Hannah," His voice was deep, not as velvety as Sherlock's she noticed, but beautiful. She looked at the man across from her with sad eyes.

"Have you been here this whole time?" Hannah stared at his hands clasped hanging between his knees as he leant forward on his elbows. His lips twitched into somewhat of a smile.

"I'm so happy to see you alive." He grasped her hands and she pressed her lips together tightly. The kettle started whistling and he stood from his seat, bringing out a box of sugar and steeping the tea she frowned. "I heard you were back, but Arthur said you were with two people. Two men. He said one of them is your finacee." Hannah looked at him oddly before recognition passed over her face. She nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. Yes." She swallowed. "He is." Jacob returned to his seat pouring tea into both mugs.

"What's his name?" She watched the steam rise off of her mug.

"Uh... Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." He poured sugar into her mug and handed her a spoon. She slowly stirred it in and looked back to the man across from her. He was nodding slowly. He was a lot different than Sherlock. Sherlock is a tall, dark haired, blue eyed, very lean, pale skinned man. Jacob wasn't as tall as Sherlock, but taller than Hannah, blond hair and green eyes, he was muscled and tanned from what might have been doing construction. He had facial hair that he musn't have shaved recently.

"Is he good to you?" Hannah's lips parted and she stared blankly at the man across from her. He looked at her questioningly and her mind drifted back to earlier that day when his nimble fingers gently peeled bandages from her legs. She nodded.

"He is, yes." Her heart began hammering in her chest. She sipped on her tea.

"Why don't you take off your jacket? It's kind of warm in here." She adimantly shook her head.

"No, I'm fine." The smile he had slipped from his face.

"Are... you're sick aren't you?" She looked at his sullen face and he frowned. "How... how long do you have left?" She shrugged. "Are you seeing a doctor?"

"Yes. Sherlock's friend, my friend, John Watson is with us. He's the other man that came with me." He looked out the window, then back to her.

"They just let you wander off by yourself?" His voice was tense. "You're sick, you shouldn't be getting out of bed. What the hell Hannah?"

"They don't know I'm gone... not yet at least." She looked at the small wall clock above the doorway and noted that she had been gone for almost an hour. "That walk was longer than I thought... they should be finding out soon." She looked down into her tea. "I'm not helpless you know, I can take care of myself."

"Not when you're sick. We were young, but I still remember how horrible it got for everyone..." She sighed and rested her head in her hands. "I have to take you back." She shook her head.

"No." She grabbed his arm and halted his movements to get up. "I need to help myself right now. I was going to search for something here, but... you're here so... would you take me to Arthur's." He shook his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea Hannah." She set her mug back down on the table.

"I haven't been out of the house since the day we arrived here." Her voice came across as desperate. "I have an idea about something, I think... I think I know who is behind all of this and I need you to help me." He sighed and rubbed his temples.

"How do you know who it is, but no one else does?" Hannah bit her bottom lip.

"Sherlock and John have been uncovering things leading back to a specific person. They don't... they haven't been around me as much because they're trying to figure out how to cure me and... I only have a few days left Jake." She weakly stood from the table. "If you won't help me I will just go by myself."

"No. Hannah." He stood and handed her the cane. "My truck is around back, come on." She followed him from the kitchen to the back where a faded blue truck sat beside greasy tools and car parts. "Are we warning your... finacee about you taking off?" He helped her get into the passenger seat and she let out a small laugh.

"No. They would lock me in the room and never let me out." He rounded the truck and climbed into the drivers seat. "Not after giving me a long lecture as if I'm a child." _To Sherlock of course I am. _

**.**

John walked from his room and paused in front of Hannah's. He wondered if she had heard him screaming at Sherlock the hour before. She hadn't been making any noise, he assumed she had fallen asleep again. Knocking lightly he said, "Hannah, I'm coming in." He opened the door and a feeling of fear welled up in his chest. He pushed the door open all the way and ran to the bathroom. "Hannah?" Empty. He looked back into the room and shook his head. "This can't be happening, Sherlock!" He ran from the room and burst into the library. Sherlock hadn't moved since the last time he saw him, still glaring down at the pages of an unknown book. "Hannah's gone." Sherlock's head snapped up and looked at John questioningly. "I just checked her room. She's not there." Sherlock stood, wordlessly, from the table and strode from the room, into Hannah's bedroom. Standing in the doorway Sherlock slowly nodded as if understanding something.

"She left on her own, no one took her." His voice was tense. "What the hell were you doing this whole time?" He glared at John.

"I've been in my room, right across the hall." John motioned to his door and Sherlock rolled his eyes, storming from the spot and down the stairs. "You don't like her my ass." John mumbled, following the dark haired man down the stairs and out the front door.


	8. 008 Richard

**-I have ultimately decided that my two Sherlock stories won't meet. They way I want to go with this story would make it difficult and almost impossible for me to do what I thought I was going to. **

**Just a reminder this is before the second series so that would put away some questions you might have that will arise with what will be introduced in this chapter.**

**Thank you for reading!-**

**Ashley Marie**

**{008}**

Richard

Her heart was pounding and she was beginning to regret her choice. The truck hit every bump on the road causing her to bite her lip to not cry out. Her thoughts of helping Sherlock and John had waned and she was struggling with the urge to tell Jacob to go back. His knuckles where white from his tight grip on the steering wheel. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and she struggled to pull the small device from her jeans. She looked at the screen.

_**Incoming Call...**_

**Sherlock Holmes**

She swallowed and tapped the screen, putting it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" His voice was tense and she looked out the window.

"I'm fine." Jacob looked away from the road to her, raising his eyebrows.

"Where are you Hannah?" She couldn't recognize the tone of his voice. It was something that she had never heard in his voice before.

"I'm traveling." She heard wind and lots of it from the other line.

"Hannah, where the fuck are you?" She sighed and leant her head against the window.

"Meet me at Arthur's. We just got there." The truck had pulled to a stop in front of the small cottage. She shut the phone and pushed it back into her pocket.

"Was that him?" Jacob had rounded the truck and helped her out. She nodded and limped, holding onto the side of the truck as he handed her the cane. "Come on." Hannah was nervous. She didn't know how Jacob, sweet, kind Jacob would react to Sherlock's arrogant deductions. Jacob rapped on the door three times and there was an uncomfortable silence. Victoria Gregg opened the door, mouth breaking into a smile when her eyes landed on Hannah.

"Oh! My beautiful girl." Her hands cupped Hannah's cheeks and her eyes watered. "How are you?" Hannah's voice shook.

"I'm fine. Can we come in?" Victoria then noticed Jacob standing off to the side and nodded slowly before turning her attention back to Hannah.

"Come on in." Hannah slowly entered the home breathing in the familiar smell of cinnamon she exhaled quietly and took a seat on the small sofa, Jacob sitting down in the arm chair across from her. "So... where's Sherlock..." Mrs. Gregg looked to Jacob and tensely added, "Your fiance." A blush crept up Hannah's neck.

"He's on his way here, with John." Mrs. Gregg smiled at her.

"I'll put the kettle on and bring out some biscuits." Hannah nodded gratefully and Mrs. Gregg left the room. Hannah sat awkwardly with Jacob.

"She still doesn't like you?" Hannah laughed. Jacob smiled and shook his head.

"She still hates me for ruining her garden." Hannah looked at the ceiling, smiling. "You still owe me for saving your ass on that one." Hannah laughed and clutched her stomach, wincing.

"I never told you to take the blame for it, you did that all on your own." Jacob rolled his eyes and leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Only because I liked you." Hannah scoffed. "It's true. I told Mum every night how I was going to marry Hannah Winters and how I would make you fall in love with me." The blush rose on her neck, turning her cheeks red when the door burst open. Jacob leant back in his chair as John walked to Hannah, kneeling before her.

"You alright?" Hannah nodded and looked to Sherlock who stood tense by the door.

"You must be Sherlock Holmes then?" Jacob stood to shake John's hand. John looked to Sherlock and back to Jacob shaking his head.

"I am Sherlock Holmes." His deep baritone voice rang through the room and Jacob stiffened looking to the dark brooding man at the door.

"Oh, then who..."

"This is John." Hannah's hand rested on John's shoulder. "Dr. John Watson, my physician." Jacob nodded and fit his hands into his pockets.

"Dr. Watson!" Mrs. Gregg's cheery person entered the sitting room with the tea tray. John stood smiling and kissed Mrs. Gregg on the cheek. "Hello Mr. Holmes." Sherlock nodded once and looked at Hannah who avoided his gaze. Victoria put the tray down on the table and served the tea. Sherlock moving to take the seat next to Hannah, John glaring at him as he pushed John to sit in the other chair. Jacob sat down stiffly back in his seat. "Mr. Gregg should be home shortly I just phoned him."

"Thank you." Hannah smiled and accepted her cup. Sherlock's eyes turned to Jacob and John rolled his eyes knowing what was coming. Hannah glanced at the man beside her whose eyes drifted from Jacob to hers. He smirked and she looked at him questioningly.

"It would have been nice to inform us that you were staying in the servants house." Hannah sighed and looked down at her lap. Jacob looked up from his cup and stared at Sherlock. "It is the Winters property after all and there is no doubt that you knew Hannah would be coming back seeing as there was a time period of three days where the house was being prepared for our arrival." Jacob's lips parted and Hannah looked to John eyes pleading.

"Sherlock-" Sherlock waved his hand.

"Not now John," His voice changed. "One would think you might be hiding, watching and waiting for the poison to finally kill Hannah." Jacob made a sound of protest. "But then again the crush you have on Hannah would prove me otherwise. You like her and the reason you didn't come see her as soon as she arrived was to keep yourself from the pain of seeing her with another man. Even though the last time you saw her was when you were children you still hold onto the image of little Hannah Winters the girl you feel the need to play hero around." She moved her arm to grasp Sherlock's forearm and dug her nails into it through the fabric of his coat. Sherlock's eyes didn't waver off of the man across from her and he continued, "You thought that if you helped her, you took her here or wherever else she wanted to go she would warm up to you being the hero rather than some bloke from London who you've never met but have heard she is marrying."

"Sherlock." She whispered and she looked at the dark haired man. He looked at her and then back to Jacob. Sherlock's arm wrapped around he back of the sofa, careful to mind her wounds he pulled her to him gently. "You want a biscuit?" Sherlock looked back down to the girl beside him, breaking eye contact with Jacob and he shook his head. "You haven't eaten in days Sherlock." He pursed his lips and grabbed a biscuit off the tray.

"Why did you leave?" His voice went from his usual arrogant tone to the same voice she heard on the phone. She tugged her lower lip between her teeth and looked at John who was listening intently, then back to Sherlock.

"I'm not helpless." Her voice was soft and shook slightly with her eyes becoming somewhat glassy. Sherlock frowned and looked to John. "I asked you to help me solve the case, not to lock me in a room and disappear for hours on end." The silence afterward grew uncomfortable and Mrs. Gregg who stood awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen since the beginning of the whole ordeal broke the silence.

"Hannah darling, would you care for some stew?" Hannah looked at Mrs. Gregg who motioned to the kitchen. "It's your favorite and I think you should have some, they don't seem to be feeding you properly." Hannah felt herself nod and say thank you as Mrs. Gregg disappeared into the kitchen.

"You shouldn't have gone anywhere Hannah." Hannah nodded.

"I know, I just..." She shrugged, "I felt awful about it." She looked at Sherlock who was turning the uneaten biscuit over in his hand, eyes staring blankly into the room.

"She should be allowed to do what she wants yeah?" Hannah had almost forgotten about Jacob's presence and her eyes moved across to his. "She's not..."

"She is very ill." John was defensive. "She shouldn't have left the house."

"That's really not your choice now is it?" Jacob was just as defensive. His eyes moved back to Hannah whose eyes were locked onto Sherlock. He felt his chest tighten.

"You're going to get sick." She told Sherlock. He shook his head.

"I'm fine." She rolled her eyes and moved away from him slightly.

"How long has it been since you've last eaten exactly?" Sherlock shrugged and Hannah sighed. Mrs. Gregg returned to the room.

"Come on dear, come sit and eat in the kitchen. Arthur should be back soon and no doubt the men would want to talk." Hannah slowly moved to get up from the sofa and Sherlock moved to help her.

"Stop." Sherlock looked from her to Jacob whose eyes gleamed triumphantly. Sherlock glared at him as Hannah moved past Jacob to Mrs. Gregg's side. Mrs. Gregg helped Hannah to the kitchen and out of sight.

"You obviously don't know how to take care of someone who is ill." Jacob scoffed at Sherlock's words.

"My family died to you know, the fresh air and some walking around might prolong her life." Sherlock shook his head.

"So might rest and the right medication." Sherlock glared at the muscled blond man. "She _is_ very ill. She should be resting in her room right now."

"Don't blame it on me, she came to _my_ house and asked _me_ to take her here." Sherlock made a face.

"Such a gentleman, lets blame it all on the woman." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Your truck brought her here instead of returning her home."

"What made her like you?" Jacob snapped. "You're too cold for Hannah. She's too good of a person to be saddled with someone like you." Sherlock clenched his jaw.

"Why don't we keep this professional." John intervened. Sherlock looked to John with a disapproving look before settling back against the chair. That's when Mr. Gregg entered through the front door, peeling his coat off of his shoulders and hanging it on the coat rack. He clapped his hands together and turned to the three other men.

"Hello boys, how might I help you?" He was smiling. John stood from his seat.

"Hannah is actually the one who brought us here, she's in the kitchen with your wife."

"Ah. Alright then, Victoria must be shoveling food down the poor girl's throat." Arthur looked between Sherlock and Jacob who sat glaring at one another. He looked back to John questioningly before it dawned on him and he nodded. "Right then, John why don't you join me in the kitchen." John looked between Sherlock and Jacob before nodding.

"Sure." Hannah was sitting across from Victoria who was buttering a piece of bread. Hannah was slowly consuming the thick stew before her, a pillow rested behind her back and she attentively listened to Mrs. Gregg talk about what she was thinking of planting this spring. Arthur moved to press his lips to Victoria's cheek.

"Hello darling." Victoria smiled. Arthur smiled at Hannah and she let him press his lips to her cheek, rubbing her back, "How are you feeling sweetheart." She shrugged and said,

"Could be better." He smiled sadly and looked to John, her eyes found John's and they widened she tried to stand.

"Are you mad? They're going to kill each other." Arthur kept her in her seat and John shook his head.

"Might actually be entertaining, things have been kind of dreary lately." Hannah rolled her eyes and spooned more stew into her mouth. Victoria placed the buttered bread on Hannah's napkin before standing and moving to the sink.

"You had a question Hannah?" Hannah looked at Arthur and nodded slowly. John and Arthur took a seat at the table.

"Where did my Mother go every Thursday?" Arthur sat back in his chair and looked at Hannah with a blank expression. "She would go somewhere right after breakfast and not return until dinner. I remember that." Arthur looked to Victoria who stood at the sink, gripping the edges. She turned to look at Arthur and nodded.

"She went to Kensington. South Kensington." Hannah frowned.

"Why would she go to Kensington?" John remembered the bundle of receipts Sherlock had in front of him earlier that day.

"Your father wouldn't buy her the things she wanted so she would go out of town and get them herself." Victoria moved to Hannah's side.

"She would bring us home presents." Victoria nodded.

"Little bobbles from the shops there."

"She had debt, a lot of debt." John added. Hannah looked to him and he continued. "Debt that she couldn't repay but thought she could take care of all by herself." Arthur nodded.

"She was proud, your mother." Hannah placed her spoon down and sat back in the chair. "She thought that she would be able to just take care of everything herself and your father would never find out."

"He knew."

"Of course he knew, but your father loved your mother and didn't want to bring it up. Every month or so he would go into town and settle the debt."

"So someone wouldn't kill the Winters over the debt?" Arthur shook his head.

"No."

"Then what? The woman at the pharmacy, she said that people weren't upset that they were dying." Victoria sighed and looked at her husband.

"We tried to tell the police, but they wouldn't listen."

"Listen to what?" Sherlock's voice made Hannah turn in her seat to look at him. He walked into the room followed by an aggravated Jacob. Arthur and Victoria stared at each other for a long time.

"Money... money and power make people do things that they wouldn't have done before." Victoria sat next to her husband as he went on. "People go mad with power and people get hurt. It wasn't your parents who did something wrong to make these murders happen Hannah."

"What?" Her voice was soft and unsure.

"You are a beautiful girl Hannah, you've always been beautiful." Arthur smiled kindly at the young girl. "You're so young and beautiful."

"Why are you saying this?" She frowned.

"Your brother had this friend, this very... peculiar friend. We think he's the one who did this, but... the police didn't believe us because he was just a teenager."

"What was his name?" Sherlock moved to Hannah's side. Her eyes stayed fixated on Arthur and Victoria. Victoria looked to the floor then back to Hannah.

"Richard Brook." Hannah looked to Sherlock who took his phone from his pocket and started typing something.

"I don't remember a Richard Brook." She said. Victoria looked at Arthur and back to Hannah. Arthur spoke,

"He spent a lot of time with your brother. He always insisted on going to your house." Arthur looked at Hannah with concern. "I never liked him, he was a fifteen year old delinquent." He folded his arms. "Something was off about him. He brought you gifts. Little cards, figurines and... he brought you a necklace once. Right after Henry died he bought you a necklace with a rather large diamond in it. Something far out of what you'd expect him to be able to afford. That's the last time we saw him."

"Is there anything else you could tell us about him?" Sherlock looked up from his phone.

"He was a little prick, smart ass who didn't respect his elders and always had this haughty expression on his face with his hand stuffed into his pockets." Hannah stood quickly from the table and winced, regretting the quick motion but dismissing the thought and walking quickly to the front door of the cottage, passing Jacob and Sherlock and leaning against the wall next to the door outside, breathing heavily.

**.**

_"Hannah Banana." His voice was sickly sweet as he entered the girl's room. She sat on the floor sorting through her toy trunk, looking up to see the dark haired boy. He smiled and she returned the smile, sadly looking back into her trunk. "What are you doing?" _

_"I'm looking for my flower. The flower Henry made me out of paper." He walked closer to her and sat on his knees next to her. Her brown hair was tied back with a black hair tie, the black dress she was wearing hinted at the occasion. "I was going to put it in his..."_

_"Casket?" She looked up at the boy with wide eyes and nodded.  
><em>

_"Why is he gone?" She asked. Her eyes watering. "They said he's gone and he's not coming back." The boy's hand moved to her hair, pushing the silk brunette strand from her face. _

_"He died." She frowned and a tear rolled down her cheek. He held the sides of her face and pressed his forehead against hers. _

_"He was screaming." The boy nodded and his hand reached into his pocket pulling out a long black box. _

_"I got you something." He pulled her to him and opened the box, watching as her eyes lit up. The clear jewel shining up at her. "I wont be around after this. Not for a while." He pressed his lips to her temple and pulled the necklace from the box, clasping it around her neck. "I will see you again."_

_"When?" She turned to face him.  
><em>

_"When you're older." He pressed his lips to her forehead and then walked from the room leaving Hannah to return searching in her toy chest for the paper flower. _

**.**

"If he liked her, why is he trying to kill her?" Arthur shrugged at John's question.

"He isn't trying to kill her." Sherlock said.

"What?" John looked to Sherlock.

"He isn't trying to kill her, he needs her." Sherlock began pacing.

"For what exactly?" Sherlock nodded.

"He's brilliant, very, very brilliant." John looked at Sherlock with disbelief. "He knew she would come to me, he's trying to get my attention." Sherlock's tone elevated.

"You think this is brilliant?" Jacob yelled. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She might die!" Sherlock shook his head.

"She wont die. He's not trying to kill her. If he was trying to kill her he would do more than put a small dose of poison into her body lotion no... he would have administered it just as he did with the others, in more than one place. The dose she had been receiving was enough to keep her sick, slowly increased to make it seem like she was getting worse but not enough to kill her. He wanted her to think she was dying and due to the recent attention paid to your blog he knew she would come to me to solve it." He looked back down at his phone and frowned. "Richard Brook, there isn't anything on Richard Brook, but if she can remember what he looked like we could figure out how he'd look now. He's in his thirties, that much we know. Most likely living in London seeing as it started recently and was replenished often. Near her flat, or in the surrounding area."

"What about that man? The man that attacked her." John asked. Sherlock nodded.

"He was just mad as we found when we interrogated him. He was trying to kill her because he thought she would start the end of the world." Sherlock stared at the floor with his hands on his hips.

"If she stops using the lotion and the ointment her body will heal itself, that paired with a good antibiotic and she'll soon be back to how she was before. He wants my attention."

"So you knew that she wouldn't die?" John's voice was tense.

"Of course I knew." Sherlock spat. Sherlock walked from the room and John sighed, following him from the room. Sherlock walked out of the front door and stopped next to Hannah.

"Come on." He wrapped his hand around her bicep and pulled her along with him. She looked up at the detective whose eyes were lighted with an excitement she knew had to be about the case. "We're going back to London. You'll be fine but you'll be needing to stay with us so John can take care of you. Mrs. Hudson has a spare room in her flat." Sherlock turned his phone over in his hand. "You'll be fine." He sensed her hesitance as she stopped walking and he turned to her. "You're not going to die, trust me." Hannah nodded as Sherlock turned back to the road and paused. "The key, the one we found belongs to something of Richard Brook's which is why we couldn't find anything in the house. Something that he wants us to find but wouldn't put it there outright." John stood next to Sherlock on his opposite side.

"I'm coming with you." Jacob's voice sounded from behind them. Sherlock chuckled.

"No you're not."

"Yes I am!" Hannah looked at Sherlock.

"Just let him come." He looked at her, her glassy eyes shining back to him. He sighed.

"Why should I?" She shrugged.

"He's my friend and he might be able to help us." Sherlock mumbled,

"Or slow us down."

"Sherlock, please." He stared into her pleading eyes and then looked back at Jacob.

"Fine, but he's not staying on Baker Street." He glared at Jacob before standing by Jacob's truck. "Let's go."


	9. 009 Argument

**-Somewhat shorter chapter. Not much to say about this except I will be updating again, probably tomorrow. Most likely. Thanks for reading!-**

**Ashley Marie  
><strong>

**{009}**

Argument

Hannah's skin was slowly healing itself. Less painful than the day before, she was able to move without the cane to the cab in the early morning hours. She turned the key in the front door, locking them and making her way down the steps where the three men stood. Jacob by his truck, Sherlock and John by the black cab. "Are you ready to go?" Jacob offered his hand out to grab Hannah's. His hand was pushed out of the way as Sherlock glared at him.

"She's going in the cab with me, her fiance." Hannah rolled her eyes and looked at John. "John you go in the truck." John opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it sighing and nodding at Jacob who was glaring at the dark haired detective. Jacob reluctantly moved to his truck and climbed in the drivers seat as Hannah slid into the back seat of the cab followed by Sherlock.

"I don't like the way he looks at you." Hannah's head rolled to the side to look at Sherlock.

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock's eyes moved down to hers and he frowned.

"His pupils dilate, he's sexually attracted to you." Hannah scoffed.

"Does it matter?" Sherlock stared at her blankly for a moment and Hannah saw a muscle in his jaw twitch before he responded.

"I guess not." Hannah's head rose off of the seat and she stared at Sherlock questioningly.

"What's wrong with him liking me?"

"Wanting to have sex with someone does not equate to liking them. People have sex with strangers." She sighed and sat back, resting her head on the back of the seat.

"Would you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Have you?"

"Have I what?" She nudged his shoulder.

"You know what I'm asking you." She laughed lightly. "You're not stupid."

"No." She smiled.

"No you wouldn't or no you haven't?" She heard his hand close, the leather of the glove making a small noise.

"We'll stop by your flat first and you can pack more clothing."

"You're avoiding the question Sherlock." He continued.

"I've called Mrs. Hudson last night and she is preparing your room, first floor... down the hall and second door on the left." Hannah gave up and bit her lip. She shifted to the other side of the taxi, leaning her head against the window. She took her phone from her pocket and unlocked the screen, flipping through the contacts she selected John Watson and opened a blank message.

_**Sherlock is a virgin?**_

She quickly closed her phone and looked at Sherlock who was typing away on his own phone a frown on his face. Her phone vibrated seconds later and she unlocked the screen.

_I don't know. Why?_

She looked back at Sherlock and smiled.

_**Has he ever brought a woman back to the flat? A man?**_

Sherlock's eyes stayed fixated on his screen, moving to hers when she let out a small laugh.

_No. I can't really see him seducing someone. Can you?_

Sherlock cleared his throat and Hannah looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "What?" She asked. His eyes flickered from hers to her phone and then back to his.

"Nothing."

_**He told me that Jacob is "sexually attracted" to me.**_

_Those were his exact words?_

_**Yes.**_

A new message appeared on her phone. From Sherlock Holmes. The address was both her and John's phones.

_**Stop talking about me. **_

She looked up at Sherlock and smiled. He glanced at her. She laughed. "You're ridiculous." His lips curved upward slightly.

"I can see what you're typing in the reflection on the window." She shook her head.

"You should just talk to me instead of me restoring to talking with John." He looked back down at his phone before putting it back in his pocket.

"Then tell me Mr. Holmes, do you like men or women?" The question seemed to catch him off guard, he took a moment before responding.

"Women..." She smiled.

"You don't sound so sure." She laughed. "Maybe you and John are more than friends?" Sherlock glared at Hannah. "People talk... two grown men live together in a flat by themselves, there are rumors."

"False rumors." She rolled her eyes smiling,

"Sure."

"I'm not gay." She nodded.

"That sounds more definite." She rested her head against the seat once more smiling at Sherlock who sat beside her looking annoyed. "Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Then how do you know you like women?" She asked. "If you've never had a girlfriend, you've never dated a woman, never had a girlfriend you could just as well be attracted to men." He looked out the window. _I'm attracted to you. _"You never know. It could be possible."

"I am attracted to women." She laughed.

"There is nothing wrong-"

"I know there is nothing wrong with it." Hannah nodded and text something on her phone. "I'm not gay."

"Sure. Whatever you say Sherlock." He sighed and looked at his phone when it beeped.

_You should tell her you like her. You're all alone._

**I don't like her and we're not alone the cab driver is here as well. **

He looked at Hannah whose eyes were focused on the scenery. Her brown hair had dried naturally in a wavy mess that she had complained about before they left the house. It was messy, but fit her face nicely. The big brown eyes he had grown accustomed to had regained some of their shine. Her skin became less pasty, still more pale than when they had met, but it would take a while before she was back to normal. Her lips were somewhat chapped, not helped by the fact she kept biting the skin off of her bottom lip making it bleed a bit. His phone made a noise and his eyes directed back down to it.

_If you don't tell her soon, you will lose her. _

**.**

It was raining in London when they arrived. Not a heavy rain, but enough to get Hannah uncomfortably damp. She entered her flat trailed by Sherlock, Jacob and John parking the truck. Sherlock began checking the rooms for anything out of the ordinary while Hannah moved to her bedroom. She pulled a large suitcase from under her bed and began pulling shirts out of her closet. A knock was heard at the door. "Sherlock, open the door for Jake and John please?" She continued packing her things. The sound of the two other men joining them reached her ears.

"Hannah." She closed her suitcase and looked at Jacob.

"Yes?" He moved across the room, closer to her. His voice was low and she could hear the sound of Sherlock and John talking in the living room.

"I don't want you to stay with them." She shook her head.

"What?"

"I don't think you'll be taken care of the way you need to be if..." His eyes darted to the closed door and back to her. "I think we should both stay here." Hannah sighed.

"John is a doctor and until I get better he has to be nearby to take care of me. This... Richard Brook could find another way to poison me and without Sherlock-"

"Fuck Sherlock, he's an arrogant prick." Hannah looked over to the door expecting Sherlock to be standing there ready with a comeback but found the door still closed.

"He's helping me Jake." She moved away from him and crossed her arms. "He's figuring out who killed my family. This Richard Brook guy, whoever he is, has the answers I need to be able to move on with my life. I need Sherlock."

"Sherlock is the reason he even came after you."

"We don't know that for sure. It's a theory." Jacob scoffed.

"He seemed pretty set on that theory." Hannah pulled her bag off of the bed.

"He's smart... he's beyond smart. He's... a genius and my only hope to bury this whole ordeal that includes both your family and mine." At this point she was shouting and even though she was aware of the fact that Sherlock and John can hear her, she continued, "He is the only person who can help me... help you as well, and yeah he might be an ass some times but that's a small price to pay to be able move on and feel safe again."

"You have me!" He exclaimed. "I can help you now. We can find Richard Brook together. I know you-"

"You knew me." Hannah let out an aggravated sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. "We will be lost without Sherlock Holmes." Jacob shook his head an angry expression on his face.

"He is not your fiance..."

"No." Her eyes were directed at the floor.

"Then what?" She looked at him, his face flushed with a repressed anger.

"I hired him to help me solve this case because no one else would. You could have come and looked for me as soon as you turned eighteen. You didn't and that's your loss. He agreed to help me."

"Because he thought you were interesting." Jacob scoffed. "I've been on the website and I know that he's only using this case to bide his time until he is needed next. He solves a case and then moves onto the next one. You don't matter to him. You're just a piece of paper to him. A small problem he has to solve before moving onto the next one." Hannah quickly grabbed her bag a wretched the door open, the door slamming against the wall. She exit the room without a word and walked past John and Sherlock who stood silently in the living room.

"He can stay here." She walked through the front door and pressed the button to call the elevator. She heard the sound of Sherlock's leather shoes behind her along with John whispering something angrily to him. They stopped behind her just as the elevator opened. She stepped inside, the two men following her. Jacob emerged from her flat and started to quickly walk to the elevator. She pushed Sherlock to the side and repeatedly pressed the close door buttons. Jacob slipped in between the doors and Hannah quickly slipped out as the doors closed.

She took the stairs, trying to get down as quickly as possible. As she reached the lobby she saw the elevator doors open revealing a two angry men and one man who looked as though he was about to shoot one of them. Jacob saw her figure first and quickly strode to her, grabbing her arm. "Leave me alone!" She yelled. "Let me be angry for fucks sake." She pushed him away. "Go back upstairs and I will call you when I want to talk to you." John intervened before Jacob could say any more.

"I think we should get back to Baker Street. Hannah needs her rest." Jacob glared at the doctor as John ushered her to the door. Hannah and John stopped just outside of the doors and looked back to see Sherlock standing near Jacob and glaring at the shorter man. His mouth was moving and the more he spoke the more noticeably angry Jacob grew. Sherlock picked up Hannah's suitcase from the ground and walked away, Jacob storming off in the opposite direction.

"What did you say to him?" Sherlock shook his head and called a cab, not looking at Hannah. "Sherlock, what did you say to him?" Hannah grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her. "What did you say?"

"It doesn't matter." She rolled her eyes and let go of him as the cab pulled to the curb.

**.**

"Hello sweetheart." Mrs. Hudson pulled the girl in for a hug, Hannah happily returning it and smiling.

"Thank you so much for letting me stay." Sherlock and John walked upstairs and out of sight.

"Oh it's not problem dear. Sherlock told me you were in a bit of trouble, safest place to be." Mrs. Hudson smiled and walked into her kitchen. "I'll put some soup on and you can go unpack, I'll call you when it's ready." Hannah smiled gratefully and continued down the hallway to the last door on the left. The room was simply furnished, the wallpaper a floral pattern clashing with the patterned quilt. Hannah placed both her suitcases on the bed opening the first one and disposing the dirty clothes from their trip into the white laundry basket Mrs. Hudson had in the corner of the room.

Hannah sat on the edge of the bed and placed her head in her hands. She felt her body tremble and tears overflowed, running down her face. Her chest was tight and she sat, trying to figure out why she was crying. She bit her lip trying to muffle the silent cries which were turning into sobs. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and fell back on the bed, pushing the suitcases to the floor. She curled up on the bed, pulling her legs to her chest and sobbing into her knees.

Mrs. Hudson frowned, eyes growing glassy as she paused fist raised to knock on the door then deciding against it. She walked away from the room and silently turned up the stairs to 221B, knocking on the open door frame and entering the flat.

Sherlock sat in his usual spot, plucking at the strings of his violin as John was typing something on his laptop. "Boys?" John looked up at Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock gave a nod in acknowledgement. "What is happening with Hannah's case? Now I know I don't usually get involved, but that poor girl is crying in her room at the moment." She paused, "Those aren't the cries of someone who is just upset." Sherlock's jaw clenched and the violin let out a violent screech before he threw it down on the seat behind him and grabbed his coat running out of the room and from 221B onto the streets of London.

"Hannah... her family is gone." John shut his laptop and walked to Mrs. Hudson. "They were murdered when she was a little girl and whoever it was came after her. While we were in her hometown we met some people from her past and one of them came back here with us. She... they argued before we came back here and I'm guessing the argument made her a little more than upset."

"What were they arguing about?" John stood next to Mrs. Hudson now, the older woman crossing her arms and looking sadly at the front door.

"Sherlock."

**.**

Jacob sat silently on Hannah's couch, flipping through the channels on her television when Sherlock knocked loudly on the front door. Jacob sighed and stood walking to the door and looking through the peep hole to see the angry detective. "What do you want?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I want to talk, open the door." Jacob unhooked the chain and twisted the lock, opening the door for the tall brunette. Sherlock calmly walked into the room and faced Jacob, who shut the door and crossed his arms. "Hannah is upset." He stated.

"I know." Sherlock sighed.

"No, you don't. She was angry, now she's upset. She was crying." Sherlock felt awkward, standing in front of the bulky blond man with his hands clasped behind his back.

"What do you mean she was crying?" Sherlock glared at the man across from him. "You think it's because of me?"

"Who else would make her cry?" Jacob shrugged.

"I don't know... maybe the asshole standing across from me." Sherlock clenched his fist.

"I believe... for Hannah's sake we should..." Sherlock sighed and looked at the ceiling. "We should pretend to get along."

"You- you're actually suggesting that we pretend to be friends-"

"Not friends, civil."

"Well... civil, you want us to be civil... for Hannah?" Sherlock nodded. "Why?" Sherlock stared at Jacob blankly. "It's just, she's not your fiance, she's not your girlfriend, she's not anything to you but a case and you want to actually cater to her and her feelings when you're supposedly this big shot 'consulting detective' who is too intelligent to be around normal human beings."

"She... Hannah is still a person." Sherlock's voice seemed forced. The argument he had with John from days before ringing in his head. _She's a girl, Sherlock... some level of you likes her. _

"You like her don't you?" Jacob laughed. "She's nice isn't she?" Sherlock shook his head.

"She's a good acquaintance."

"Not quite a friend?"

"Not quite." Sherlock moved towards the door. "She should be calling you tomorrow, she doesn't stay angry long. Come over and we will start discussing the case, and how we're going to find Richard Brook. I should have something by then."


	10. 010 First Contact

**-Short, but very important chapter. Hannah & Sherlock's relationship is developing and things are slowly moving up to the point where Sherlock will meet Irene. Most likely within the next three chapters Hannah will be meeting Mycroft and Irene will also come into the picture. **

**Thank you for reading! Hope you like it!-**

**Ashley Marie  
><strong>

**{010}**

First Contact

Hannah's first night on Baker Street was quiet. After dinner she went back into her room, passing John's worried gaze and Sherlock's blank stare, she laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. Her phone vibrated on the night stand. She rolled over and unlocked it, seeing a number she didn't recognize.

**Long time no see.**

Her thumb hovered over the reply key and she bit her lip before tapping it.

_Who is this?_

She waited before hitting send, wondering if she should be replying to this message without first consulting Sherlock as to where this could be coming from. Holding the phone in her hand she waited for the reply.

**You stopped wearing the necklace. **

Her stomach dropped and hand shook as she replied.

_Richard Brook?_

Again she waited for the reply, getting up and shutting the blinds to the window.

**Sort of. **

_What do you mean sort of?_

Minutes passed by before her phone's screen lit up. Incoming call from the same number. She waited for a moment, contemplating whether or not she should answer. She tapped the screen and brought the phone up to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hello Hannah." The voice. It was more deep than she had remembered, but the smug tone was still present. His accent giving her chills. "Are you going to talk?"

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice shook no matter how hard she tried to hide it. She walked to her bedroom door a locked it.

"I thought you would be happy to hear from me. I was your favorite after all." She shut her eyes and sat back down on the bed. "I thought you would be happy, you wanted this."

"I didn't want this." She spoke harshly. "I didn't want my family dead."

"Yes you did. You told me yourself." She frowned. "You said to me, 'I hate them, make them go away' and I did." She shook her head.

"I never said that."

"Yes you did. You were angry, very angry." His voice was taunting.

"I was a child."

"As was I." She shook her head trying to fight off tears.

"I was a spoiled child who didn't get her way... I said it out of anger. I didn't..." She cried. "I didn't mean it."

"It's too late for that now love." She rested her head in her hands and sobbed.

"Why are you doing this? Please stop." Silence at the other end, she could hear him breathing.

"We are meant to be together you and I."

"No."

"I will come for you."

"No." She yelled into the receiver.

"Soon."

"Leave me alone!" She screamed, throwing her phone at the wall. "Leave me alone." She slipped off the bed and onto the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Three heavy knocks sounded on the door.

"Hannah!" Sherlock's muffled voice reached her ears. "Open the door!"

"I'm fine." She said. "I'm fine."

"Open the door." His voice was more calm. Hannah crawled over to the door and unlocked it, twisting the knob to open it slightly before returning to her position leaning against the bed. For the first time since they've met Sherlock wasn't wearing his usual outfit of expensive pants and a tight button up. His hair was askew, and he wore plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt with a large robe over top. His eyes immediately moved to the wall where a small dent lead down to a phone on the floor, the screen cracked and the battery laying a few feet from it."Who called?" She shrugged and looked at her feet. Sherlock sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Who called?"

"I-" She looked up at him and shook her head. "How did he get my phone number?"

"So it's as I presumed. Richard Brook." She nodded. "What did he say?" She stood from the floor.

"I don't want to talk about it." She crawled up onto the bed and laid back against the pillows. "I just want to sleep."

"Sleep after we're done talking." He pushed himself up to sit with his back against the wall and looked down on Hannah who was laying on her side facing him. She pressed her head further into the pillows. "Tell me what he said."

"Can't we just talk about this tomorrow?" She whined. He quickly replied with a 'no' and Hannah groaned trying to push Sherlock off the bed.

"What did he say?" She looked up at him and stared for a moment. From this angle his cheekbones were more prominent, his eyes lit by the lamp in the room looked darker than they ever had. She pushed herself up on her elbow and Sherlock sat awkwardly, not sure what was happening. Her hand moved from its position on the bed and up to his face. Her fingers brushed across his right cheekbone, across his lips, and down to his chin where her hand stayed. His skin wasn't as smooth as she thought it would be, he hadn't shaved and she felt the scratch of the small stubble on her finger tips. Her thumb was pressed to his lips, fingers splayed across his cheek. She dropped her hand and sighed, laying back down.

"He's coming for me, he said." She avoided his eyes. "Soon." She rolled over to her other side. "Now can you leave me alone? I want to sleep." She felt his weight lift from the bed and silently he left the room. Sherlock closed the door quietly and stood facing the opposite wall, raising a hand to his cheek. He shook his head and walked back upstairs.

Flipping John's laptop open Sherlock typed in the password and stared at the screen. His prior research of Richard Brook yielded no result. He searched for any news articles from around the time of the Winters death, in the surrounding area. He typed Richard Brook, then paused deleting the words and typing Henry Winters.

Articles popped up, a death certificate and news about the Winters' deaths. A police record for earlier that year was listed beneath the two. Opening the file, his eyes scanned the article.

_Four teenagers._

_Drug exchange. _

_Two survivors._

_Henry Winters _

_Unidentified friend. _

_Two claim innocence. _

_Two dead, families in mourning._

Sherlock enlarged the blurry picture of what he knew to be Henry Winters and Richard Brook. The picture was taken from far away, Richard facing away from the camera, the dark black head of hair being his only visible feature. Henry sitting across from him with his hands limp between his knees, leaning forward and talking to Richard. Henry's eyes were familiar, similar to the girl who resided a floor below him, they were large and dark. Henry's hair was slicked down, his school uniform wrinkled, and has a panicked expression on his face.

Sherlock studied Richard, what he could see of him. Richard's hair was more unkempt. His straight black hair had been gelled down at some point, but stuck up in random places. Signs of struggle between him and another person. He was hunched over, his white shirt wrinkled, he was wearing the same dress pants as Henry. The same school.

Sherlock knew for a fact that Henry went to a very prestigious school an hours drive from the Winters Estate. Sherlock typed the web address and hit send.

_PAGE 404 NOT FOUND_

He checked the address and found it to be correct. Typing the name of the school into the search bar the reasoning behind the deleted web page was revealed. Five years ago the building was burned to the ground by an unknown arsonist.

"Richard Brook, you have been planning this for a while haven't you?"


	11. 011 Remember

**-Yay an update! My face is in pain because I just got my wisdom teeth removed, so this was written in between passing out from pain killers. I hope you enjoy it. Jacob returns the next chapter & Irene makes her appearance.  
><strong>

**Shit is about to get real.- **

**Ashley Marie  
><strong>

**{011}**

Remember

_"I don't like the way he looks at her." Hannah stood, eyes peering into the library through the cracked door. "It makes me feel uncomfortable." Her mother's voice was worried. She saw the tall blonde woman pace the floor with her arms crossed. Her father looked up from his spot at the desk and smiled. _

_"You're paranoid, sweetheart." Her mother sighed heavily. "He is Henry's friend and he doesn't spend that much time here." She shook her head as her husband looked back down at the sheets of paper he was going through. _

_"Something is wrong with that boy." She shook her head. "He doesn't... he just feels wrong to me." Hannah jumped, feeling a hand on her shoulder, the fingers brushing her hair from her ear. _

_"Come with me." His voice. His deep voice that she knew very well. She didn't question his command, slipping her hand into his she followed him from the hallway and down the stairs. She bit her lip as they exit the home through the back entrance of the kitchen. The sun was setting, the lights from the house casting the shadows of the windows across the ground. The servants quarters was illuminated across the way. Smoke rising from the chimney and disappearing into the darkened sky. _

_She stared at the back of the tall boy in front of her. She tried to pull her hand away from him to wipe the sweat from her palm, but his grip only tightened. "Where are we-" He hushed her and they walked deeper into the woods, the light from the two homes fading as the distance grew. She felt a growing fear well up in her chest and she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. He stopped suddenly, she bumped into his back and he turned around. She looked up at him, barely seeing the outline of his face. _

_"We are here." He walked backwards, pulling the small girl with him. He knelt down and searched the ground for something, sifting through the leaves before he found it. A click was heard and the light from a small flame was held in his palm. He moved it to a pile of sticks and lit them, the area becoming brighter. Stolen firewood from the side of her house sat against a far tree and a tent was set up opposite the fire. He had released her hand, kneeling next to the fire he looked up at her. His large brown eyes were reflecting the fire in front of him, pale skin with a dark tint, his smile wasn't as comforting as she thought it was. _

_His face wasn't what she remembered. For the first time since being around him, she was frightened._

**.**

Hannah sat on the edge of the bed. After a fitful night of sleep she was sitting and waiting, for what she didn't know. She heard John's heavy footsteps above her, in contrast to Sherlock's of which stopped a while ago. She knew she was anything but attractive. She ran her fingers through her hair and tugged at the knots, standing from the bed and walking to the door. She looked down at her phone which was still broken on the floor and she bent over, placing the battery back in the case and turning it on.

Walking from the room, she heard silence downstairs eluding to the fact that Mrs. Hudson had left about an hour ago. She turned to head up the stairs when her phone finally finished and beeped with a text message. She stared at the number for a moment, pausing on the stairs. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She didn't open it, and finally reached the top step, knocking gently on the open door she saw John sitting in his usual spot nibbling on toast that was on the table next to him. Sherlock didn't look any different than last night, sitting at the desk with John's laptop in front of him, fingers pressed together under his chin and his eyes closed.

"How are you feeling?" John folded his paper and stood up, moving into the kitchen. She shrugged. She avoided Sherlock's eyes which had opened to John's inquiry. She turned her phone over in her hand and tossed it to Sherlock who quickly unlocked the screen and read the message she didn't want to. John returned from the kitchen with a clear glass of water and a large white pill. "For the pain," He said. Hannah happily excepted it and John handed her a plate of toast.

Sherlock was staring at the screen still when she looked back over to him. "Do you remember what he looked like?" She bit into her toast and stared at the back of Sherlock's head.

"No." Sherlock's figure grew tense before he turned around.

"What do you mean no?" Hannah's lips parted before looking at John who shook his head and stuck his face back into the paper.

"No means that I do not remember what he looks like Sherlock." He glared at her before standing up and moving to her.

"You do know that we need to know what he looks like right?" She rolled her eyes.

"If I don't know, then I don't know. I have no idea why I don't remember." She finished her piece of toast and layed back in Sherlock's chair. "It's not my fault."

"It is your fault." Sherlock accused. "_You_ don't remember."

"Sherlock," John interrupted. "Do you hear what you're saying right now?" Sherlock turned slightly to his friend. "Not everyone's mind is a steel trap."

"This sort of thing should not be forgotten." Hannah sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

"If this is all you're going to talk to me about then I'm just going to go back downstairs. I'm still tired." She stood from the chair. Sherlock shoved her back down into it.

"Sherlock!"

"What the hell!"

"John leave." His voice was stern, eyes not moving away from Hannah. John shook his head, standing up.

"No, you can't just push her around." Sherlock didn't move.

"John leave." Sherlock's voice was tense and unwavering. "I won't push her again. Leave." Hannah nodded at John who then threw his paper down on his chair, taking his jacket and walking from the flat.

"Why did you push me?" Hannah's eyes were a little glassy.

"Why can't you remember?" She shook her head.

"That is no reason to push me down." Sherlock knelt down before her and she felt her face flush. His hands gripped her knees and pushed them apart slowly. His eyes never leaving hers, he settled between her legs, his hips touching her inner thighs. "What are you doing?" Her voice gew quiet, the dark haired male leaning closer in causing her to press her back against the chair. His hand moved up from her knee slowly. Tracing his way up her right thigh, over her hip, skimping across her stomach and brushing gaainst the side of her breast causing her legs to shake slightly. His hand brushed across her cheek and intwined itself in her hair, pulling her face towards his.

His hand massaged her scalp gently, pulling his forehead to rest against hers, her eyes fluttered closed, heart beating rapidly in her chest. "Remember." He said softly.

"I can't." His nose brushed against hers.

"Try." She frowned and water overflowed from her closed eyes

"I don't want to." Her voice shook and his other hand moved from her knee to cup her cheek.

"Why don't you want to?" Her head moved side to side, trying to pull away. Sherlock's hand stopped massaging her scalp to come down to rest on her other cheek, the pads of his thumbs wiping away her tears. She opened her eyes and looked into his, his eyes a darker shade of blue due to the lighting, but the same clarity, the same beauty still there. Her hands wrapped around his wrists and his eyes searched her's as he watched her cry.

"I don't want to." Sherlock nodded.

"I know, but why don't you want to?" He whispered. "What did he do to you?" She shook her head rapidly, pushing him away slightly and standing up, moving across the room to the door. Sherlock wrapped an arm around the front of her shoulders and another around her waist, pulling her back to him. "Think about your family." His right hand brushed the hair away from her face, his lips next to her ear. "You have to rememeber him to finally end this." She let out a choked sob. He pressed his lips against her cheek. "Please." Her hand ran across his arm that was on her stomach, gripping his forearm, she leant her head back and looked at Sherlock.

"I don't-"

"Do not say that." Her body shook with sobs. "You know just as well as I what he did." His hand moved from her shoulders, to her hair and she turned around in his arms, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "You just have to try and remember what he looked like." She shook her head and his grip tightened against her waist. "It all depends on you at this point."

His fingers played with a strand of her hair absentmindedly. His eyes set before him, staring at the door, he wasn't sure why he was doing this. This all felt so natural, but so new to him. Her small frame fit against his just about perfectly, her head resting just below his chin, his hand resting on the curve of her waist he felt the same thing he felt back at the estate well up in his chest. Holding the sobbing girl against him he tried to distance himself, eliminate the strange feelings and he tried to remove himself mentally from the suitation. He found this to be impossible to do when her head changed position, leaning up slightly, her lips so close to his neck he could feel her warm breath. His head moved down to look at her. Her large brown eyes staring back at him. Those large brown eyes that caused him to take this case. The same large brown eyes that made him cave to her will.

His fingers dropped the strand of hair that had been wrapped around them, moving up to cup her cheek she moved up on her toes, lips moving closer to his. Without meaning to, his head moved down to hers, brushing his nose against hers. Lips centimeters apart, the doorbell rang and Hannah moved back down, placing her heels on the floor and looking down the stairs. "A client." He said. His hands removed themselves from her quickly, her body feeling cold from the lack of body heat. "Keep him occupied, I'm getting dressed. Call John." Hannah nodded and stuffed her hands into her pockets, moving down the stairs to the front door as the doorbell rang once more. She checked her appearance in the hallway mirror, flattening her hair a bit, she opened the door. A large dark haired man stood on the opposite side, his hands clasped nervously in front of him.

"Hello," He peered behind her, "Is this the residence of Sherlock Holmes?" She nodded.

"Yes, please..." She moved to the side, allowing him entrance. "Follow me." Shutting the door and locking it, she walked back up the stairs and offered him a seat, picking her phone up from the desk. "He will be with you in a moment." The stout man nodded, looking nervously around the room. She dialed John's number and held the phone to her ear.

"You alright?" He answered with a rush she nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her.

"Yeah, a client came. Sherlock wants you to come back." She heard the rushing outdoor air from the other end of the phone.

"Alright. I'll be up in a moment." They said their goodbyes and she turned back to the nervous man who sat in the middle of the room.

"Would you like something to drink?" The man's eyes darted up to hers and he nodded.

"Some water would be nice." She smiled kindly and entered the kitchen, taking a glass out of the cabinet and filling it with water, bringing it back to the man.

"He should be out soon." She stood awkwardly, peering down the hallway leading to Sherlock's room. "I'm really sorry for the wait." The man shook his head.

"It's no problem really." She smiled and heard John coming up the stairs. His blond head popped in the room and Hannah sighed in relief. "This is Dr. John Watson." The man stood from his chair and shook John's hand. "I'm going to go. Sherlock should be out soon." She nodded awkwardly and John smiled, stifling a laugh as she turned and exited the room.

She hurried down the stairs, checking to see if John had locked the front door before returning to her room, getting ready to shower. She tossed her phone onto her bed and began peeling off her clothing. She looked at the phone and stared at it. She wondered what the last text had said. She picked her phone up off the bed and unlocked the screen, pulling up the recent texts to see her inbox blank. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling, hearing Sherlock's footsteps join John's in the main room.

She threw her phone back down on the bed and walked into the bathroom. She turned the tap on cold due to the warmth that had grown between her legs. She peeled her sticky underwear off her thighs and climbed under the cold water hoping to wash away the heated feelings that had grown during Sherlock's embrace.

**.**

She hadn't seen Sherlock for the rest of that day. He had agreed to take the stout man's case and Hannah avoided going upstairs to have to face what she felt would be an awkward conversation. Mrs. Hudson had come home a few hours later, while Sherlock and John were still talking to their client thankfully. She kept Hannah preoccupied with kind conversation and the two watching some horrible daytime television. That night John had handed Hannah the prescription bottle of painkillers. He told her that he would be leaving early tomorrow morning for the case.

"What about Sherlock?" John rolled his eyes and shrugged, walking back upstairs.

Hannah was startled the next morning when she woke up and opened the door to large men in dark suits. They flashed her a badge. "Is Sherlock Holmes here?" She looked up the stairs and nodded, opening the door for them to enter.

"He's not in trouble is he?" One of the men shook their head as they walked up the stairs. Hannah sighed and rested her head against the door, closing it and waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She heard them talking, Sherlock's defiant voice drifting downstairs, before the men walked through the door. Sherlock walking down behind them. Hannah's jaw dropped. "Are you-" Sherlock looked at the girl whose eyes grew wide at the sight of his pale chest. "Why aren't you wearing clothes?" He just looked at the men in front of him.

"I'm needed at the palace." Hannah gripped his arm as he reached the final step.

"Buckingham Palace?" Sherlock nodded. "You are going to Buckingham Palace dressed in a sheet?" She saw the corner of his mouth turn upwards and he left through the front door, trailing behind the men in dark suits. "That man will be the death of me." She mumbled, returning to Mrs. Hudson's flat and sitting back down at the table to finish her breakfast.

A few hours later she was sitting in front of the tv, watching a soap opera when she heard Sherlock and John burst through the front door and walk up to their flat. She turned the televison off and walked up the stairs, her curiosity getting the best of her. She walked into their flat to see Sherlock throwing what seemed to be costumes on and then changing his mind, tossing them back out of view. "What is happening?" John shook his head. Sherlock emerged from his room dressed as a vicar causing Hannah's confusion to grow. "What are you doing?"

"We have a case." Sherlock moved swiftly around her and she felt a pang in her chest. His eyes avoided hers and he walked out the front door. She looked to John who looked just as confused before following his friend out of the front door. Hannah sighed and collapsed into the desk chair, her hand resting on a manilla envelope. It looked new, and seeing as she hadn't seen it the day before it must have something to do with this current case. She held the thick envelope in her hands and turned it over, touching the flap to open it. She paused wondering if this could be something Sherlock would be angry with her about later, but her curiosity overwhelmed the other thoughts and she pulled out the thick pile of glossy pictures. Turning them over to see the front her heart almost stopped. A beautiful woman in black leather faced her. The beautiful woman with pale skin and red lips. _The Woman. _

Hannah flipped through the pages. Each one making her more upset than the last. "A dominatrix?" She tossed the pictures down on the desk and walked to the door of the flat, turning around and placing them back in the folder and closing it she hurried downstairs and back into Mrs. Hudson's flat. Her chest heaving with a pain she had never felt before. She sat back down on the sofa and turned the television on, trying to distract herself from what she just saw.

Her hands were shaking and she was so unsure as to why she felt such a horrible pain gripping her heart. "I can't." She shook her head. "No. I cannot like Sherlock." She dropped her head into her hands. "If he wants to go see a-" her voice cracked. "A dominatrix, that's none of my buisness. Right?" She leant back against the cushions. "It's just a case." She heard a chuckle from beside her. She froze in her seat, arms wrapped around herself, she looked to her right. In the doorway stood a dark haired man in a very expensive suit, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"You shouldn't talk to yourself." His voice. His accent. "People would think you're crazy." She couldn't move. His face, the one that was missing, suddenly became clear.

"Richard?" She tried to stand, but couldn't will her legs to move. The man in the doorway walked over to her slowly.

"Sort of."


	12. 012 Moriarty

**-I apologize for not updating sooner and making this a kind of weak update. I just kind of needed to crank this out and establish the results of Sherlock & John meeting Irene as well as the Moriarty & Hannah first confrontation. I will be updating again soon. I want to try and update my Moriarty/OC story as well as Doctor/OC. I've been neglecting them! I hope you like this small chapter!-  
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****Ashley Marie**  
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**{012}**

Moriarty

His hands gripped hers, fingers intertwined and she stared frozen into his dark eyes. His dark eyes that were so much colder, ones that held so much more evil than the icy blue ones she had been searching the day before. His grip was tight and her fear was overwhelming, his hips settled against her, tears overflowed onto her cheeks. He ground his cloth covered erection onto the thin fabric that was between her legs. "Please." Her voice was soft, pleading, she was so very scared. His grin widened, grinding himself against her again, she wimpered.

"This is something you want little Hannah." She shook her head rapidly. "You never said no before." She tried to push him off only for his grip to tighten even more, cutting off the circulation on her hands. His hips ground against hers, his breathing shaky.

"They'll find you here if you don't leave." The dark haired man smirked.

"They are plenty busy, Dr. Watson and your Sherlock." She tried to move her legs, his knees digging into her thighs uncomfortably.

"He's not mine." He clicked his tongue against his teeth three times.

"You don't see it do you?" He moved both her wrists into one of his hands, the other moving down to rest in the valley between her breasts. "Poor, poor Sherlock." He ground his cock against her again, she screwed her eyes shut and whimpered. "I told him." He said. "I...warned...him..." with each word his cock ground against her, making her feel uncomfortable. Something about this made moisture grow between her legs and disgusted her at the same time. "I told him I would burn the _heart_ out of him." He ground himself against her harder, a strangled moan leaving her throat, she cried. "I just didn't think he would make it this easy." His hand drifted from the place above her heart to her breast. Squeezing and kneading the flesh, Hannah begged,

"Please, please stop." He hushed the girl beneath him, pressing his lips against hers softly, leaving them close enough to brush hers with every word he spoke.

"The best part of all of this... is that he won't even know I have been here." His hips began steady thrusting against her. She whimpered, the flesh grinding against her clit through her pajama pants. "It's a shame he hasn't been using what is in front of him." She was asking him to stop, but he didn't respond, the friction continued. "Sweet delicious little Hannah." She gasped as he ground harder, her fingers curled into fists. She felt a burning begin to build, her heart beat escelating. It felt as though her heart was going to burst from her chest.

She felt so dirty, his lips pressed roughly against hers as his steady thrusts continued, his lips moving down to her neck. "He should have taken advantage of you while he could." The burning grew more intense, his hand moving, groping her chest, pulling her shirt up. "You wont tell him I was here, he will never know." He pulled down the cup of her bra and pinched her nipple causing her to whimper. "If I do find out he knows, and I will find out," She was growing close, so very close and as each moment passed she felt her self-hatred growing. "I will make sure that he meets a very sudden end." It hit, her climax. She bit her lip trying to muffle the moan, the man on top of her pinching her nipple hard causing her mouth to open and her loud moans filled the room. He settled against her and rested his forehead on hers.

Tears poured out from the corner of her eyes. "Hannah, my baby Hannah." She tried to push him off of her again, his knees moved from her thighs, to rest between them. She immediately tried to kick him, he groaned and shook his head, "You don't want anything to happen to Sherlock Holmes now would you?" Her body loosened and she went limp against the floor. She shook her head.

"I didn't think so." He stood from the floor, releasing her wrists they fell apart from each other. Her body spread across the floor. He stared at her for a moment.

"What is your _real _name?" She asked. Her voice still as soft as before, weak. He smirked, pulling his phone from his pocket and replying to a text. She let her head fall against the carpet and stared at the ceiling.

"Jim Moriarty." She had heard that name before. She knew for a fact Moriarty had been out to get Sherlock. She knew about the pool incident. Her heart hammered in her chest as she realized just who she had been around for years without knowing. She grew so distracted that Jim took that as his leave, "I'll keep in touch." Before exiting the flat. Tears poured from her eyes rapidly, curling herself into a ball she cried. Uncontrollable sobs wracked her body.

She heard the front door open and close, the door to Mrs. Hudson's flat opening. "Hannah?" Jacob rushed over to the crying girl, pulling her to him. "Hannah, what happened?" She screamed, pushing him away, backing into the sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest. Jacob was on his knees in front of Hannah. He slowly reached out and brushed the hair away from her face. "Hannah." His voice was soft, gentle and pleading. "Hannah talk to me." She looked at him for a moment. Her face blank, tears halting. She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks, quickly standing up.

"I'm going to go shower." She quickly walked from the room, Jacob standing up and walking after her.

"Hannah, don't do that." He went to grab her arm but she yanked it from his reach. "What happened Hannah?" She ran into the bathroom, quickly slamming and locking the door. Jacob banged his fist against the wall. "You can't do this Hannah, tell me what happened!" He heard the water start running and sighed, resting his head against the door.

The water was scalding, Hannah sitting in the bottom of the tub with her head resting against the wall she could feel her skin burning she lathered up her rag and began to scrub, starting with her arms. She dug all the dirt from under her fingernails, scrubbing her arms the flesh turned red, she then moved on to her face, her chest, her neck. She couldn't get the feelings to go away. So she cried.

**.**

Hannah pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, then crossing her arms, leaning back into the couch cushions. "Please talk to me." Her wet hair clung to her shoulders, her shirt becoming wet. Jacob sat across from her, leaning forward on his elbows he continued to plead. "Hannah you can't ignore me forever." She looked at him.

"Let it be Jacob." She stood from her seat and walked into Mrs. Hudson's small kitchen, opening the fridge and staring at the shelves.

"No. I won't let it be." His anger was clear, standing quickly from the chair he came to stand behind her.

"I'm still angry with you." Jacob sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head, closing the fridge and turning back to him.

"No. You're not." She shoved passed him and walked back into the living room. Jacob followed her, grabbing her arm and turning her towards him.

"I am _genuinely_ sorry." She stared at him for a long moment before finally sighing. "Now, please tell me... what is wrong?" She shook her head.

"Nothing is wrong." Jacob scoffed.

"Stop lying." She shrugged his arm off and walked out of Mrs. Hudson's flat, climbing the stairs to the boy's flat.

"I'm not lying, I am perfectly fine." She heard Jacob sigh at the bottom of the stairs as she entered they boy's flat, settling herself into Sherlock's sofa. Banging was heard coming up the stairs and she slowly stood to see Lestrade and John holding Sherlock up, stumbling up the stairs. "What happened?" John looked up at her and grunted, Hannah walked in front of them down the hallway, opening the door to Sherlock's bedroom, the two men dropped Sherlock on the bed. The man groaning and rolling over slowly.

"He was drugged." John finally said. Hannah frowned.

"How-" John shook his head and they both looked over to the sound of the camera function of Lestrade's phone. A grin on his face. "What are you doing?"

"It's not every day you get to see Sherlock in such a state." Another picture. Hannah rolled her eyes, darting forward to catch Sherlock before he fell off the bed, rolling him over on his stomach. His head was slightly damp with sweat, Hannah pushed his curls away from his eyes and looked at John.

"He'll be alright?" John nodded.

"It wasn't a lot, it'll work its way out of his system by morning." John looked at the drowsy Sherlock and back to Hannah who was staring down at him and stroking his hair. John nodded and grabbed Lestrade's arm, pulling him out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Hannah settled down on the bed next to Sherlock who rolled onto his back, groaning. His eyes slowly opening and closing, not being able to focus on his surroundings.

"Hey." His eyes tried to focus on her, she brushed away the curls that fell back on his forehead. He shook his head. "You're home if you were wondering." Her voice was soft, so soft, but everything was spinning. His vision of her was blurred. His muscles were so weak, he could barely move. His skin was like ice. "Where is your coat?" She sighed and pulled the comforter down from under him and covered him with it. She stood beside the bed and stared at the man whose eyes drifted shut under the warmth of blanket.

She left the room, silently shutting the door and entered the living room where John was shutting the door to the flat, waving off Gregory Lestrade. "What happened?"


	13. 013 Tension

**I am so sorry! School has gotten me so busy that I have not updated. I will try harder I swear! Thank you guys for still sticking with this!**

**xoxo Ashley**

**{013}**

Tension.

Hannah was picking at her thumbnail. The silence in the flat was normal. Sherlock tapping at the keys on John's laptop, John flipping through the newspaper. It was driving her mad. The thought of what happened the night before pressing on the back of her mind, along with Richard Brook's... Jim Moriarty's visit. She didn't know what to do. "Spit it out." Hannah looked up from her thumb to Sherlock, who sat at the desk, with his fingers still tapping on the keys. She began to think she imagined it until he spoke again. "Well come on now, talk."

"What?" Hannah asked. Apparent confusion on her face.

"You're picking at your thumbnail, your knee is bouncing rapidly... you don't have to be a genius to figure it out." Sherlock sighed. "You wish to ask about yesterday?" Snow had begun to fall outside.

"Yeah..." Hannah's eyes were intent on Sherlock. His lip twitched.

"It's none of your concern." Hannah sighed and rolled her eyes. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as his eyes stayed on hers. She was frightened and he knew it. About what was something he was still trying to deduce. Her eyes darted down, his intense stare too much for her, the pale flesh of her cheeks flushing. John looked up from his paper, between the two trying to figure out why the room suddenly felt tense.

"I should get going... lots to do before the dinner party." Hannah almost forgot. Christmas was in a few days and John thought it would do everyone some good to have a small dinner party at the flat, also an excuse for us to meet his newest girlfriend. While Hannah was begging him not to go mentally, the words wouldn't pass her lips. The door to the flat shut and the two of them sat at opposite ends of the room.

The steady typing of laptop keys filled the awkward, strained silence between them. A few minutes it continued on like that before a woman's moan broke through the air. Hannah's eyes darted up to Sherlock who was staring down at his phone. "What was that?" He didn't make a motion to recognize her question, only stuck the phone back into his pocket. "Sherlock." He hummed in response. "What was that?"

"A text message."

"A text message?" Sherlock's upperlip curled.

"You can hear clearly can't you." Hannah rolled her eyes.

"Sherlock, it was a woman's moan. That's what I was asking about."

"Well if you knew what it was, why would you ask me?" Hannah groaned and stood from Sherlock's armchair where she had been sitting. She shut the laptop on him and his glare couldn't have been colder.

"I wanted to know why."

"Then ask why don't ask what."

"I can ask what and still imply why, for someone so intelligent you're very stupid." Sherlock stood.

"You're showing your lack of intelligence by asking what when you mean why." Hannah rolled her eyes.

"_Why_ did you not tell me you were going to a dominatrix yesterday?"

"My other cases do not involve you." Hannah sighed heavily.

"Seems like something is the matter when you avoid the question of what you are doing. You were hiding the fact you were going to see her."

"I did not." Sherlock moved away from her to the kitchen, peering into the glass set on the bunsen burner.

"Yes, you did. The only reason I knew was because John left the file on the desk."

"So you were snooping?" Hannah shook her head.

"I was not _snooping. _The pictures just so happen to have been on the desk in plain sight." Sherlock looked to her.

"They were in a folder." Hannah moved into the kitchen, grimacing at what looked to have been a human eyeball at some point.

"They were out." Sherlock scoffed.

"How are you feeling?" Hannah shrugged. "What happened while we were out?" Hannah stiffened beside him.

"Nothing." Sherlock stood to his full height, towering over the small girl. He knew something horrible happened.

"_He _was here." Hannah's eyes widened.

"How did you know?" Sherlock's large hands cupped her cheeks.

"What did he do?" She shook her head, tears were building in the corners of her eyes. "You have to tell me." She shut her eyes tightly and shook her head again. "Hannah, what did he do to you?"

"Nothing." She said through clenched teeth. Her hands gripped his and tried to pry them from her face, her cheeks flushing beneath them, skin becoming hot. His eyes were stuck on hers, the pads of his thumbs move to wipe the tears that fell from her eyes.

"I told you he shouldn't come with us." It dawned on her then, with those words, that he didn't know about Moriarty. This was Jacob he was talking about. She tried to turn away, his hands kept her head still. "He's working with Brooke." Hannah shook her head.

"No." She tried to push him away.

"He is working with him. I asked some of the townspeople. He returned just days before we arrived."

"Coincidence?"

"Stop being so blind." His hands dropped to rest on his hips. The tiny break in conversation gave him time to look at her. Something he has tried to avoid since being at the manor. Her hair slightly messy, she wore it wet to bed, showering right before. Her skin still pale from sickness, but slight color returning to it. Her cheeks rosy, eyes bright, lips red and parted, slightly chapped. Tear stains down her cheeks, corners of her lips turned into a frown. He felt a grip around his heart never before felt, not when looking at any others but her.

Her lips were parted in a way that stirred something in him, the urge to capture them with his own rose into his chest. An animalistic notion sprung into his mind to toss his experiments off the table and take her on it, do the things that normal people do. Intercourse, coutius, sex. The feeling was quickly repressed.

"What?" Her hands rose to her face, rubbing her cheeks. He shook his head.

"Go rest, you look horrible." His concentration was back onto the table. Hannah shook her head and turned around, not catching Sherlock's eyes drift back towards her frame as she walked away. His pants becoming uncomfortably tight, he shifted and waiting until he heard the front door shut and her fading footsteps to ponder his release. Inner turmoil flooded through him, small attempts to make the throbbing below his belt go away were futile. He quickly walked to his bedroom and shut the door.

Hannah sighed outside of the small room Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to let her use. She wondered if Richard... Jim, had made a move to keep in touch yet. The thought of it made her heart burn in her chest. She then began thinking over what Sherlock had said. Jacob was working with Richard Brooke, Jim Moriarty. Her phone. She checked her pocket, finding it empty and rolled her eyes. She had left her phone upstairs. She quickly turned and walked back up the stairs, quietly entering the flat as to not disturb Sherlock, she figured he wouldn't pay attention to her anyway.

She heard something odd. Freezing in the middle of the flat she turned her ear towards the noise. Something breathy, strangled noise. "Sherlock?" she called. The strangled noise grew louder, more frequent. Hannah walked down the hallway and paused in front of Sherlock's room. Pressing her ear to the door she heard the noise again. "Sherlock!" She opened the door, "Oh my god."

She thought something was wrong. Someone could have come through the window and he was in a fight, getting strangled. But no. This wasn't someting she was expecting. Sherlock hand gripped tightly around his cock, face flushed, eyes were now wide a sort of shock. She could feel his embarassment from where she was standing. The white liquid was drying on his thighs. "Get out!" She quickly nodded and shut the door, rapidly apologizing. Her hands went up to her mouth, she was unsure how to feel about what she just saw. She blamed her mind for tricking her into maybe hearing her name pass through the door right before she opened it.

She quickly looked for her phone and stepped quickly down the stairs and into her bedroom. The junction between her legs heated. The sight of him like that was unlike any position she had ever seen him in before. His face had never been so red, mouth parted... he had been moaning. His hand wrapped around his cock, he was still stroking it for a few seconds after she saw it. Hannah bit her lip, pressing her hand against her heart feeling the rapid beat of excitement, arousal, embarassment... something she couldn't place. Possibly all three.

Her temperment was quickly cooled when she lit the screen to her phone and a text had arrived.

_Your flat is so lonely without you._

Chills ran down her spine. She didn't think he would contact her this quickly. He said he would keep in touch but it hadn't even been a full day. The brunetter walked down the steps and turned into Mrs. Hudson's flat, picking up her coat she exit 221B Baker Street and hailed a cab.

_Hurry up._

She ground her teeth together and stepped off the curb to enter the cab, mumbling her address to the cabbie she slammed the door shut, the rapid change in emotion left her heart throbbing with a dull ache that would not subside. As the seconds ticked by she knew she was growing closer to her flat, the one she resided in before Sherlock Holmes insisted she stay close for protection. She felt a fear, apprihension, terror gripping her heart. Her body was shaking as the cab pulled up beside her building.

She slowly counted the money she owed and handed it to the driver, giving a weak smile and thank you she exited. The shiny building, the very expensive high rise apartments that she called home. She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked swiftly to the elevator pressing the number for her floor she leant her head against the shiny metal behind her.

The doors opened too soon and she feared exiting the elevator. As she paused her phone went off again, this time it was John calling her. She didn't want the questions right now, she quickly silenced it and stepped from the small box and into the hallway. She stood in front of her door, remembering that she didn't have the key and brought her knuckles up to knock, the door sliding open before she could. Half of the man of whom she feared grinned at her.

"Come in." Her skin seemed to be more pink than it was the day before, and this fact pleased him. Her flat was just as she had left it, minus the few personal items that resided with her at 221 B Baker Street. It was the way he was dressed that caught her off guard. A plain shirt and jeans, hair askew. He looked more like Richard Brook than Jim Moriarty and she wondered what he had up his sleeve. Once the door was shut behind her he wiped his hands on his jeans. "Can I take your jacket?" She nodded wordlessly. The tone of his voice almost seemed nervous. The material slipped from her shoulders and into his hands.

He smiled and gestured to the floor. "The floor felt so impersonal." He grasped her hand and yanked her to him. "I thought you might like the bed this time." Her bottom lip quivered.

"Please don't do this." He pressed his lips to her neck.

"You used to beg me," She cringed, "You love me." She shook her head.

"Stop." She felt his mouth pull into a grin.

"You will do what I tell you." His lips moved up to her ear. "I've got a very close friend watching over loverboy and his doctor and I'm not afraid to tell him to pull the trigger." Her lips pressed together tightly as his fingers passed the waist of her pants. "Let me have you." She cried out as his hand reached it's destination before relenting.

_I'm so sorry Sherlock. _


	14. 014 Filth

**Wow, another chapter! I'm very proud of myself. This chapter is very descriptive… kind of setting up the scene for current relationship standings and drama. I hope you all like it. Reviews will make me write another one… possibly today. **

**-Ashley Marie**

**{****014}**

Filth.

Snow was falling over the streets of London. A pale brunette sat in the dark, staring out the bedside window as the large white flakes stuck against the glass. Her chest had a tightness to it that caused alarm, as the feeling never faded or relented she grew accustomed to the feeling that had started as soon as she retrieved her phone hours before. The day came and went, her phone eventually powered down, the constant texts and phone calls of 'Where are you?' went unanswered. She knew Sherlock would figure it out, she had hoped he would have done so earlier, but then again not.

Her body betrayed her and her mind was at war with the disgust she now felt. The disgust with herself. Her arms were crossed as a subconscious attempt to protect herself. The man who had caused such inner turmoil was dressing himself in the blue light of the television set. She was told to remain bare, the only safety was the sheet she had pulled to cover herself. He was talking, about what she did not care. The only attention paid to him was when his rough fingers tightly gripped her jaw and turned her face to his.

"Be a good girl while I'm gone." Were his closing words before he pressed his lips against hers and lightly smacked her face. He left the room and minutes after he left the flat. She could hear a high pitched ringing.

"Hannah what have you done?" She asked herself. Tears rose to her eyes and spilled over, down her cheeks. This was not silent crying, this was the desperate body shaking, choking, red-faced cries of a broken woman. All she wanted was to figure out who had killed her family. She wanted to live. She didn't want any of this. She missed her independence, her friends, she missed school.

She didn't know how long she has been away, how long it has been since John had called her for the first time after she left. She didn't know how many times she could hear her phone vibrating from her jacket pocket before it fell silent.

She slowly removed herself from the bed, dropping the sheet and stepping into the scalding hot shower to attempt to erase her misery. She had regrets. _I should have never contacted Sherlock Holmes. _The sentence went through her mind repeatedly. Jim Moriarty would have sought her out sooner or later. A revelation. Was this his plan all along? To put the two together so he can knock them down all at once? Finding Sherlock had been on her own accord... wasn't it?

Her poisoning had begun showing symptoms around the time Sherlock started getting public attention. _He can solve any case presented to him. _She was told. Poison Hannah, remind her of her childhood and put her life at risk so she will seek the one person who can solve every case. How could he have possibly known that Sherlock would become dear to Hannah? How could he have deduced that Hannah would become dear to Sherlock. She felt foolish.

It was about an hour later that found her tossing her sheets into the dumpster out back. She tightened her coat around her body and hailed a cab. This cab would take her back to 221 B Baker Street and into the deducing eyes of Sherlock Holmes and the question-filled mouth of John Watson. She wordlessly handed her money to the cabbie and walked into the flat, trying to close the door as quietly as possible was futile. John's loud yell reached her ears.

"Where have you been?" His quick steps to her from the sitting room of Mrs. Hudson's flat caught her off-guard. His arms wrapped around her. "We've been worried sick about you." Hannah's head dropped and she let her chin rest on his shoulder. Sweet, comfortable John, he would never hurt someone like Moriarty. He fought for what was right and believed in normalcy. He was so normal and kind. Her hands rested high on his back as she fought off tears. John could sense she needed comfort and didn't let her go quite yet.

"You're such a good friend." She whispered.

"I've got some tea dear, if you would like it." John slowly released her and Hannah gave a small smile to Mrs. Hudson who lifted the mug in her hands.

"Thank you." Hannah accepted the warm liquid and relished in its soothing quality.

"Where were you Hannah?" John asked. Hannah shrugged.

"I went back to my flat for a bit." It wasn't a lie. "I just needed to be alone for a bit" Lie number one. John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Where is Sherlock?" As if on cue, the dark haired detective barged into the flat, stopping when he saw the girl he had been out looking for.

"Where have you been!" It was less of a question, more of him yelling, his deep voice booming across the room. Hannah's hands shook as she placed the mug of tea on Mrs. Hudson's end table. It was John who answered him.

"She went back to her flat." Sherlock was in front of her, it seemed as though he ignored John's words as he knelt before her, pulling her coat sleeve up. Her skin was red an enflamed.

"Who was with you?" She felt chills down her spine. She imagined Jim Moriarty's 'friend' readying his gun. Hannah shook her head.

"No one." Sherlock glared at her.

"Liar." She pressed her lips together tightly.

"No one was with me, I wanted to be alone." She frowned. Sherlock scoffed.

"So no one let you in your flat, leaving it looking very satisfied a few hours later." Hannah could feel the anger radiating off of him.

"You don't know what you're talking about." She clenched her jaw.

"My homeless network never fails." John looked puzzled.

"If you knew where she was, why would you ask her?" Sherlock glanced over at John.

"I wanted to hear her lie to me." Hannah snatched her arm away. "She went out and met someone at her old flat, which we all know is where Jacob is staying… he finally got into your pants did he?" Hannah glared at Sherlock. John's mouth parted in shock.

"You know nothing about what just happened to me." She growled. Sherlock smirked.

"Well my informant so readily admitted that you were very vocal about what was happening to you." Tears spilled down her cheeks before a crack split the air. Sherlock's head dropped to one side. Mrs. Hudson gasped.

"What does it matter to you?" Her voice was low, the anger apparent. "I don't think I require your services any longer Mr. Holmes." She reached into her wallet quickly and grasped a couple of large bills. "This should cover it." She threw the money onto the table and stepped around him. Slamming the door on her way out, she shut her mouth tightly as to prevent from sobbing.

…

Sherlock Holmes played random notes on his violin, staring blankly at the wall, his feet resting on the table in front of him. John was angry with him, Hannah had left and he had no contact with her for the past week. John, he knew, was also being ignored, but with Sherlock's secret prying he found that she registered for classes due to start in January. His homeless network had been keeping tabs on her so he also knew that the same male visitor had returned three days in the past seven and on the third he stayed there for a period of about 48 hours.

John had given him the cold shoulder. Mrs. Hudson had given him hell for his actions. The only person who hasn't said anything yet was Mycroft Holmes, who was currently standing in the entryway to Sherlock's flat, staring at his younger brother whose mind seemed to be racing.

…

Hannah placed her recently bleached pure white sheets on her bed. The clean fabric made her feel a bit more at peace. She always changed the sheets when _he_ came over. She was sure to use a cheap set she had recently bought for such an occasion. The set she was placing on her bed now was a rather expensive brand, comfortable and beautiful. She smoothed the wrinkles out and placed her duvet on top, tossing her multitude of pillows to follow.

Pasta was cooking on the stove, a thick meaty sauce in the pan next to it. In the living room her school books were spread across, next to her tablet of which was open to the blog of Doctor John Watson. She moved swiftly across the floor, removing from her mind that Christmas came and went this past week, ignoring the fact she spent it alone watching Miracle on 34th Street and drinking liquor infused eggnog. John, ever the sweetheart, left her a present down at the front desk, almost comically it was 'From: John and Sherlock'. The gift was currently sitting on her vanity, a silver box that came from an antique shop once visited by her and John on a day that she desperately pleaded to get outside. She fawned over it when she saw it and then frowned when she realized she had forgotten her wallet. She had decided to go and get it later, but when she went to buy it, the silver box was gone.

John must have bought it then. The silver box was next to a small vase of flowers that arrived the next day. She imagined they would be from Sherlock as an apology, then placed that as far from her mind as possible deeming it improbable.

She quickly drained the pasta and poured some of the sauce over top, bringing the steaming bowl with her to her living room where she turned on the television she was told to remove from her bedroom. She let the news anchor's witty banter act as white noise while she perused John's blog. He wrote something about her, _Winter's Chill_ was depicting a very vague image of the time she was with the pair ending with a sentence that made her heart turn in her chest.

_She had him acting almost human._

_He_ was Sherlock. The Sherlock that Moriarty claims to be hers. The one she was trying to protect, only to have her actions blow up in her face. Sherlock's rudeness would not have her seeing him anytime soon. The picture of him in the paper, another one of him in the deerstalker hat sat under her school books. School would begin soon, in two weeks and her patience was wearing thin. She needed a distraction, a place she could go to lose herself in everything.

She even changed her major from Criminal Law to Journalism. She was sick of criminals, now she just needed something to distract her. Thick literature books and Introduction to Journalism, Psychology and Philosophy books ready to begin her first day of classes.

She finished her dinner quickly and rinsed off her dishes, placing them in the dish washer. A knock came to her door, which she begrudgingly opened. Jacob had told her that he had business to attend to and would come back when he could, leaving her to her flat by her lonesome. The man on the other side of the door was someone she could not refuse entry, mainly because she had curiosity as to why he would want to come see her personally without a call of warning. "Mycroft, how can I help you?" The older Holmes brother smiled.

"May I come in?" Hannah nodded and let him in, shutting and locking the door behind him as he removed his coat.

"Would you like some pasta?" She caught his nod and fixed him a bowl of the remainder of pasta and sauce, placing it at the small kitchen table she hardly ever used. Mycroft Holmes had visited her twice before. Once having his assistant come and fetch her, Hannah was told some information on his younger brother, Mycroft having listened to her rant once about his horrid behavior.

As Mycroft tucked in he began studying the poor girl. She knew that he was aware of things she wouldn't admit, his network more effective than the homeless network he had informed her Sherlock had trailing her. From his desk he could get into any surveillance camera in the city, possibly the country, but she didn't question it.

His assistant showed up on her doorstep not even an hour after she had stormed from 221 B and ushered her into the beautiful black car that took her to meet him. He offered her one of the many desserts he had laid across his desk, the two shared tea and he informed her of his knowledge of the situation. She knows that he doesn't tell her everything he knows, but she is pretty sure he also knows about Moriarty.

"My brother has taken on another case." She nodded.

"It's about time." She pulled her hair out of her face and tied it back.

"He left for Baskerville this afternoon." She leant against the counter.

"The military base?" He made a sound of agreement. "What's he doing there?"

"Investigating the appearance of a giant hound," Hannah's eyebrows rose, but she didn't reply. "Has _he_ hurt you?" A chill ran down her spine at the mention of it. She shook her head.

"Not when I comply." Mycroft wiped his mouth on a napkin and settled back in his seat.

"There is not much I can do with this situation. We had to release him, we had no choice. Unless you were to take action we cannot help this problem."

"I know." She mumbled. She filled the kettle with water and lit the stove, placing it on to boil. She removed his bowl and rinsed it, placing it to be washed. "You also know why I cannot." Mycroft gave a curt nod. She crossed her arms and stared at the floor. "Mycroft… why do you keep coming to see me?" The kettle went off and she poured two cups of tea while she waited for his reply, cutting him a piece of pound cake.

"Whether you believe it or not, you mean a lot to my brother." She placed the tea and cake in front of him. "He doesn't believe it but eventually he will feel the need to come and see you, and I would rather you not be dead when he does." Hannah sighed and sat across from him.

"_He_ won't kill me." She sipped her tea, watching him eat his cake. "Not right now anyway."


	15. 015 Tryst

**{015}**

Tryst.

Spring was upon them. The air becoming warmer, but still cold enough to require her to have her jacket, her satchel hitting her side as her heeled boots clicked across the pavement on her way to her next class. School was her safe haven, distractions were the very thing she needed and the coursework was a wonderful aid. She took her seat quickly in the front of the lecture hall and pulled out her tablet, propping it up and placing her book next to it, opening it to the prior class' notes, re-reading them.

She was a very dedicated student, and so far none of her assignments have been late. She would hand them in as early as she possibly could. She worked relentlessly and quickly climbed to the top of her class. One of her professors was even suggesting an internship.

She felt her phone go off, vibrating inside her jacket pocket on the back of the chair. She opened the text.

_**How have you been?**_

It was another one of John's attempts. Sherlock had remained distant, never once attempting to contact her; however as each vase of flowers died, another was there to replace it. _Not Sherlock, it couldn't possibly be. It's not like him. _She sighed and stared down at the letters on the screen. John didn't deserve her coldness.

**Busy. In school. **

She sent the text and turned her phone on silent as the lecture began, rapidly typing her notes into her tablet.

The class was over too soon and she pulled out her phone again.

_**Glad to hear it. We miss you here.**_

We miss you here? Hannah shook her head and continued on the street. John was like the wife who compensates for her husband who has no interest in going to the party, giving someone a gift, saying hello. She signs for both of them, speaks for both of them, smiles and steps on his toe to let him know he better smile or else. _We _miss you here. John sympathizes because Sherlock is too stubborn.

She didn't answer, entering the small shop to purchase that night's take away before returning to her small flat to work on that night's assignments.

Opening the container of noodles she turned on the news, letting it drone on about a recent robbery or something. It was soon interrupted when Mr. Jim Moriarty entered the flat talking darkly into his phone, threatening the person on the line; he shut the door behind him and stared angrily at the ground. Hannah continued to eat her noodles. He would visit four times a week. Mycroft would come by one day a week, the remaining two she was left on her own. He growled and ended the call, sitting down on her sofa, staring at the back of her head as she typed out her assignment.

His fingers soon gripped her hair, pulling her head backwards. She looked into his dark eyes. This relationship wasn't what she wanted. The tension of his touch, every brush of his fingers caused her to recoil. It was difficult, this man who she knew so well, probably better than anyone who he had ever associated with, including her brother who had been his best friend.

The things he admitted to her when she was a child, he said she was so innocent to the cruel world that surrounded them, so sheltered. He said he was helping her by telling her of the abuse he had endured, the excitement he felt while causing her pain. He claimed abusing her was to help her be able to cope, and she thought maybe in his mind, his sick depraved mind.

A few times she caught him in the middle of the night distraught. Not angry, but miserable, sad. Once he was crying. Her sympathy for him was clouded by the fact he blackmailed her into being his sort of, but not really girlfriend, more like sex toy. When he was angry, he took it out on her. When he was sad, she felt obligated to comfort him.

"I just wanted to make you happy," he told her once, "I wanted to give the beautiful girl I loved everything she ever wanted."

To that she replied, "I was too young to know what I wanted." She knew he was mad. She knew he wanted to murder her sometimes. She was lucky enough to have the cold weather to hide the bruises on her neck after such events. She wondered if this was what women who were abused by their spouses felt like. They are torn between hating this person who keeps hurting them, the person who threatens and beats them, and feeling sorry for the tortured soul that resides inside the man.

His mouth pressed against hers and she closed her eyes to appease him. She learned early it was better to comply, especially when he's in a sour mood. "How is the Doctor?" He whispered against her lips. Her eyes fluttered open.

"He just wanted to know how I have been." She gave a tiny cry when he yanked her hair back a bit.

"Do not reply again." She nodded to please Mr. Moriarty before he pressed his lips against hers again. "You can finish your coursework in the morning, get in the shower." All she could do is obey.

It's not that Sherlock never crossed her mind. Sherlock didn't just cross her mind, he inhabited it. She thought about him constantly and that is what she was stressed about. He snapped at her. He yelled at her and accused her of being a harlot, but it wasn't his sly judging eyes that made her so angry. It was his jealousy, his anger that caught her off guard and spiked her anger as well.

She knew he was warmer to her than the other people in his life, excluding John. She was aware he was territorial, very primal in some parts of his personality, but it gave him no right to feel entitled to her. She could feel the jealousy radiating off of him, and emotion he wasn't prone to he wasn't used to hiding. It was apparent.

She was sore in the morning. Jim left sometime in the night, he always does. She wrapped her warm blanket around her and settled on the sofa with some tea, pulling up her tablet to check and see if Sherlock Holmes was featured in any major papers. Her phone, which was left in her bag vibrated. She sighed angrily and unfurled herself from her comfortable position to retrieve it. God forbid she misses a call from Jim Moriarty, but it wasn't him. John Watson's name flashed across the screen. She debated ignoring it, but seeing as he had not called her in months she answered.

"Hello?" She barely got the word out before he said.

"Sherlock is on his way, get ready." Hannah frowned and looked at the time on her phone as the army doctor quickly ended the call. It was still early yet, meaning Sherlock hadn't been to bed. She remembered Mycroft's words… he knew Sherlock would come to see her at some point. Months have passed and she wasn't really expecting it to happen.

John had tried to keep in contact. In the beginning there would be phone calls, a massive amount of texts. As the weeks rolled by the phone calls stopped and as more time passed the texts have dwindled down to the one every so often. She grew nervous. Sherlock was not in good terms with her when she left, as she went to retrieve her belongings from Mrs. Hudson's flat he stood glaring at her from the top of the steps. She didn't spare a glance.

He wasn't too happy with her, and his cutting remarks didn't leave her in very good spirits. The small thrill of seeing him again was smothered by the thought of Jim Moriarty. She looked around her flat, seeing the small traces of a male presence that Sherlock would undoubtedly pick up on. She began to clean up, removing some of Jim's clothing that was strewn about her living space, spraying air freshener to mask his signature cologne, placing the rest of the dishes in the washer and starting it before catching her appearance in the mirror.

Her eyes had dark circles from lack of sleep, she was wearing her most comfortable set of clothes and also the least attractive set of clothing she owned. Her hair was a mess and her lips were swollen still from last night's assault. She ran to her bedroom and started dressing, washing her face and applying a bit of make up to her under eyes to mask the dark color. She applied some lip balm and combed her hair the best she could, finally wrapping it in a high bun. She admitted that she didn't look half bad. She started at her disturbed sheets and cringed seeing the used condom still laying on them. She quickly disposed of it and washed her hands. She didn't hear the door open, but the deep voice of Sherlock Holmes reached her ears, the closeness of it making her jump.

"You should get better security, picking the lock to your door was too easy." Hannah glared at him in the bathroom mirror.

"Knocking is a more appropriate way to get entry into someone's home." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Hannah swiftly moved past him and into her living room where she straightened up the scattered school books. "Why are you here Sherlock?" He didn't answer. "Sherlock…" He was standing in her bedroom and as she stood in the doorway she felt her heart clench in her chest.

"Two men visit you." Hannah frowned.

"Oh, so that means I'm fucking both of them?" Sherlock's hands were clasped tightly behind his back.

"One of them being my brother," Hannah rolled her eyes.

"You think I'm fucking your brother?" Sherlock scoffed.

"No, but you definitely are feeding him. He's put on ten pounds since he's started coming over here." Hannah watched Sherlock pace the floor, his eyes lingering on the small vase of flowers on her vanity, before looking to her. "Who is the other man?" Hannah shook her head.

"It's none of your business." She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. "Don't you have a case you should be working on?" There was a silence before he replied.

"Jim Moriarty has finally made appeared again after laying low for a bit." He noticed her body stiffen. "He is organizing something." He could see her body start to shake. "What are you not telling me Hannah?" She quickly turned away to leave the room, but his long legs allowed him to stride to her before she could get very far, his one arm gripping around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest. "How do you know Jim Moriarty?"

Hannah shook her head. "I don't!"

"Liar!" Sherlock yelled, "How do you know Jim Moriarty?" She struggled against him. "Tell me Hannah! I have to know!" Sherlock's actions struck something in her. Something that she was not expecting to happen, nor does she know why it began.

Life had been easy for a while, as easy as it could have been and she had fallen into routine. As miserable routine as it was, it was still something she knew. She could expect to see Jim four days out of the week, Mycroft every Sunday. She knew she had school between certain hours, and days off on certain days. A mundane ritual had transpired. This was interrupted by Sherlock's invasion into her home and his accusation that she was withholding information. She was, but he didn't need to know what she was hiding from him.

She hadn't cried since the night she knew Jim Moriarty won. That was the night she left 221 B for good, but she cried now. She cried the broken hearted, choking, heart wrenching, Sherlock confusing, broken woman, abused woman, torn woman sobs and collapsed against the unsuspecting Sherlock.

He was warm and comforting; he was safety even if he was angry with her. His body was tense, but it was the most comfortable she had been in months. He did exactly what she wanted him to do. He let her cry. He let her cling to him, and he let her cry.

This event puzzled Sherlock Holmes and this puzzlement only increased when it felt as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He had just wanted to know what she seemed to know about Jim Moriarty. The ulterior motive of seeing her again in person rather than in his sexual fantasies was the deciding factor in dealing with the hurt in his chest and coming over here. Now he was at a loss, staring at the weeping girl in his arms, he slowly sunk to the floor, her body following his.

He placed his hand on her head, feeling the strands of silk she had for hair under his fingertips he closed his eyes momentarily and relished in the feeling. He had been accused of missing the dark haired girl in his lap by Mrs. Hudson and John on more than one occasion. The denial was gone in this moment as she cried against him.

Hannah's face was red, she had stopped crying minutes ago but wasn't sure how long she cried for. She felt at peace resting in the arms of Sherlock Holmes. He didn't move her off of him, so she didn't feel the need to move either. The pair rested against each other, his back to the end of the bed, her body curled up in his lap. His hand remained against her head, still. Hannah moved her eyes up in an attempt not to move her body and found his eyes closed. The steady rise and fall of his chest lead her to believe he was asleep.

With the reassurance knowing that he was comfortable enough to fall asleep, she did the same.

…

Sherlock Holmes had never been very affectionate, but seeing as though his parents weren't either it was not a very big surprise. What it came down to was the nature vs. nurture argument. Was Sherlock Holmes a born sociopath or was he trimmed and polished to be that way?

The younger Holmes brother had very vivid memories of his childhood. Sitting in the parlor with his violin instructor, a very thin, tall man who constantly reprimanded him when he would slouch or hit the wrong note was the first that came to mind.

The second were family dinners. His older brother Mycroft being praised for his many accomplishments at school, the young Sherlock had never been fond of school, he found it trivial and never found the sense in sitting in a classroom and drilling meaningless information into his head.

Mycroft would try and deflect some of the praise to Sherlock. Trying to mention to his parents that Sherlock had a very successful experiment using only his child's chemistry kit, he would try and mention to his parents that Sherlock had just learned a beautiful piece of music perfectly.

Sherlock still felt a steady resentment towards Mycroft that would lead him to distance himself from all of his family.

He once conducted an experiment to test the emotional capacity of his school mates. When he had successfully made them all in to quivering balls of tears he moved onto the staff. It wasn't long before he was removed from school entirely.

Sherlock looked down upon the girl in his lap. He felt odd emotions. A word prodded the back of his mind. A word he had locked away and shut out of his life for the longest time. His jaw clenched and he shifted his arms to pull her with him as he stood. He carried her over to the bed and laid her on it, wrapping her in the duvet. He took a few steps back and leant against the wall, staring at the pale skinned brunette whose steady breathing comforted him.

He could analyze her from here. Her skin looked soft; she put weight on, making her look healthier. Her eyes were red, tear stains down her cheeks. Her lips were parted in the way that shot a strong pull to his groin, which he ignored. Her shoulders, down to her arms… her wrists he noticed, were a particular shade that caused alarm.

Someone had harmed her. Someone had held her wrists roughly enough to bruise them. The faint traces of a healing bruise remained. Anger welled up inside his chest. This secret tryst will end and it will end now.


	16. 016 Crimminal

**{016}**

Criminal

Hannah was lying in the changing light of the early morning. She didn't have the energy to sit through her three classes that were scheduled for today. She figured that Sherlock had placed her into bed before leaving. The consulting detective wasn't there when she awoke. Hannah considered closing her eyes once more and sleeping the day away, but she reluctantly removed herself from the warmth of her bed and stepped into the bathroom pulling at the knots in her hair with her fingers she stared at her face in the mirror.

She couldn't possibly go in today. Her bloodshot eyes and pasty skin were enough for her to give up on even attempt listening to a lecture. She started the bathwater. She needed something soothing, her body still ached from Jim Moriarty's rough ministrations. Sinking down into the blissfully hot water she sighed, resting her head against the side.

The silence was oddly comforting, the only sound being from the water hitting the side as she dipped her knees under.

After minutes she felt sleep tug at her eyes. Her body jerked awake when she heard her front door slam. Angry steps of the man she feared approached too quickly for her to react. Her hair was gripped and she was roughly pulled from the bath. She cried out, partially from her hair, partially from how roughly she landed on the floor. She shrunk into a fetal position.

"Get up!" He exclaimed, yanking on her hair again. She whimpered and grasped his wrist as she followed his tugs to her feet. His eyes seemed black. "Sherlock Holmes spent the night here." Hannah was crying.

"No!" Her feet slipped on the floor as he began to drag her from the bathroom. Her hip hit the floor harshly causing her to let out a loud yell. The dangerous man leant over and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her from the floor and shoving her into her bedroom where she landed on the bed.

"Don't lie to me Hannah." She scrambled up the bed trying to grab purchase, failing as he drug her to the end of the bed. He flipped her onto her back and straddled her waist. She tried to push him off, but that only gave him the chance to grab both of her wrists. "He was here. I know he was. I also know he spent the night here." She was shaking her head, lips turned tightly into a frown.

"I didn't-"

"Of course you didn't." His voice had calmed significantly. Gripping her wrists tightly, he spread them apart on the bed. "If you were to have done anything with him, he wouldn't still be alive and neither would you." She whimpered as he pressed his lips close to her ear. He paused for a moment before saying, "I could have drowned you," pause, "I could have pushed you under instead of dragging you onto the bed."

Jim Moriarty's harsh words, his pushing and prodding ended sooner than he would have liked when his phone went off. He left her there, shaking and cold staring at the ceiling, the sun shining brightly outside.

_Time for the games to begin little Hannah, it's time for me to call out your beloved Sherlock Holmes._

...

It was only later that she would find what he meant. Jim Moriarty attempting to steal the crown jewels they said on the news. Hannah was holding ice to her hip as she watched the story. The watered down media version was probably nothing like Moriarty's escapade as to not alarm people. It didn't matter anyway, because just knowing a large criminal had found his way closer to the royal jewels than anyone else caused a very large amount of paranoia.

Sherlock has been all over the media lately, and the fact that they had announced he would be speaking against Moriarty has brought up very outstanding opinions of the public. Hannah grabbed her phone and began a text.

**I need to see you.**

…

John Watson arrived at Hannah Winter's flat in urgency. He only had to knock once before she answered, he had to take a second the look at the state of her. She seemed healthier, but something wasn't right. She didn't even cover herself up this much when she had been sick before. Clothes as a protective covering, her movements stiff and pained, he knew something was wrong.

"What is happening?" She asked. John shook his head.

"Moriarty decided to go on the tour, break in to multiple places all at the same time causing panic. They found him sitting on the throne wearing the whole bit." Hannah frowned. John stared at her as she moved across the room. "What happened?"

"Hmm?" She looked to John questionably.

"You're hurt." She sighed and lifted the side of her sweatshirt. The large black bruise that resided on her hip disappeared in both directions, the remainder being hidden under the rest of her clothing. "What the hell happened?" John quickly touched his fingertips to it.

"I don't want to talk about it." John shook his head and pressed on the bruise, trying to feel if her hip bone was affected. She gasped in pain, screwing her eyes shut.

"I think you've bruised the bone." She could hear the worry in his voice. "Has Sherlock seen this?" The mention of his name caused her chest to tighten.

"No." John sighed.

"Sherlock is still at the Yard, watching the security film." John walked over to the kitchen and peered into her cabinets. "Let's get something to eat."

"As in go somewhere?" John nodded, returning to her side. She shook her head. "I don't think-"

"Come on; let's just get you out of the house for a bit."

…

"Baker Street isn't exactly getting out." She mumbled as John carried the take away up the steps.

"Stop whining, it's better than being alone." Amusement was clear in his voice; he must have thought this was a brilliant idea. She knew why soon enough, Sherlock Holmes sat at the desk, the screen of the laptop illuminating his face. "We've got Chinese." John said. Sherlock's eyes darted up at 'we' and locked onto the unstable frame of Hannah Winters. She could feel the heat of his stare creep up her cheeks. She allowed her eyes to flicker over to his, just as quickly he returned to his work.

John dished out the food and Hannah took Sherlock's chair by the fireplace, the consulting detective was steadfast in his work. As she winced sitting down, she could see his body stiffen from the corner of her eye. "Early morning visitor?" She glared at him. John looked between the two, eyes settling on Sherlock.

"Stop acting like a child, Sherlock. You should have already apologized." Hannah shook her head and suggested they put something on to watch. John readily agreed as it would mask the awkward tension of the room. The two ate in peace, Sherlock occasionally looking over to stare at the back of Hannah's head, only looking away to bottle up the anger he was feeling each time she would jerk or make a muffled, poorly hidden, sound of pain. _Not yet. Not right now. _

He stared at his screen for a long moment, looking back at the picture of small Hannah, six years old, being held by a stranger in the article describing the tragedy that had befallen the Winters. In the back of the picture stood a boy, a teenage boy with messy hair, the picture, however, was not clear enough to distinguish facial characteristics. The way he was posed, Sherlock knew without a doubt the temperament of the individual. 'Richard Brook'

An amount of time unknown to Sherlock passed, but the sky was getting lighter. He stood to see Hannah laying on the couch, John must have gone to bed hours earlier, but not before draping Hannah with a blanket. Her face seemed to be almost at peace in her sleeping state. The worry that is usually etched onto her face had dissolved and been replaced with a calmness. He knew things were about to get a bit messy, and had been trying to distance himself from her. The anger he felt seeing her in pain, being a witness to her misery, was something that could not be repressed any longer.

Jim Moriarty would not be so easy to put away, to keep away. He was a challenge and Sherlock's excitement was building.


	17. 017 Knowledge

**-Big plot development... get ready.-  
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**{017}**

Knowledge

"_I want to take care of you," He whispered. The two children, one very young and the other in his teens, sat a foot apart, a torch lying between them casting light onto the wall of the small girl's makeshift tent. "We'll live here, just you and me." His voice was so smooth, so convincing, and so trustworthy to her. "We'll fill this house with our lives." He grinned. "We'll get married and have babies." Hannah scrunched her face._

"_Babies?" The boy across from her laughed. _

"_Yes, we could be happy together." The tips of his fingers pressed against her cheek. "When they're all gone, it will be just the two of us." _

_Just the two of us. _

Hannah left town soon after the night spent at 221 B Baker Street. She had awoken on her own; the flat seemed to be empty. She needed to get away from everyone for a while so she packed some groceries and returned to her family home, this time alone. Classes were impossible at this moment.

Her memories were vivid. The tent made out of old sheets that her brother helped her set up when she was young, she rebuilt now on her own, sitting in the safety of her bedroom, all outside doors locked, windows locked. She sat with a torch casting light onto the wall, curled up in a mass of blankets and pillows.

She could sense from Sherlock's interactions that he knew more than he was letting on, at least to her. The stress under his watchful eyes caused her to leave. She had woken up twice in the night she spent at his flat. Both times Sherlock was sitting in the arm chair staring at her.

He didn't speak, even when their eyes met. His presence was more of a comfort than she realized and the second time she woke, she only did so to make sure he was still there. Her protector Sherlock Holmes, even with distance he was reassuring her. She began to think, as he sat there and stared, what it would be like to be with someone like Sherlock Holmes. She began to wonder if he had been with someone before. She wondered if he had _been _with someone before. Her face flushed as her eyes drifted down to his lap before she shut her eyes entirely.

Ever since the bath occurred she could feel this growing tension between the two of them. This slow burning that she could only identify as one thing, but no, not with Sherlock Holmes. Especially if she had been paying him to work for her, she would not even try to kiss the brooding detective. She banished the thought of even doing more.

In those short moments her mind would beg for him to make a move. The brief memory of his kiss in her flat left her burning with need. His soft lips and skilled tongue left her a puddle, a heat settling between her thighs.

Even now, sitting miles from where he was, she felt the desire return. This space she needed to get away from Moriarty's ongoing trial. Sherlock was asked to testify against him and she refused to be involved in any way. She could sense that Sherlock knew. If he didn't know already he wouldn't be a very good 'consulting detective'.

This thought made her fearful. Sherlock considered Jim his enemy, his 'arch enemy' if you wanted to get really technical. Does he feel betrayed? She was confused as to what she was going to do. What ever happened with the dominatrix?

Hannah fell asleep in her tent. Not really noticing the man who made his way along the trees to her home. It was only when a hand found their way across her mouth, an arm around her waist, dragging her up from the floor did she wake, and her first instinct was to scream.

She thrashed about, kicking her legs, trying to hit the person behind her. The person grunted as her foot made contact with their shin, releasing her. She ran from the room, trying to get out of the house. As she was running she slipped her mobile from her pocket, pressing down on her speed dial. She could barely hear the phone ringing over her rapid breathing.

She could hear the ringing stop as she was picked up by the assailant. She could hear a questioning "Hannah?" but the only response this person would hear is the muffled scream of the name, "Sherlock!" before her captor stomped out the cellular device. A sharp pain in her neck halted her struggling, her body dropping to the floor, and her consciousness disappearing.

…

Sherlock Holmes stared at the man across from him as he placed his phone on the table beside him. Jim Moriarty was carving into an apple, a playful grin on his face. He smirked, "Who was it?" Sherlock felt his anger rising.

"You know very well who it was." Jim chuckled.

"You should stay calm Sherlock." The criminal leant back in his chair. "I don't send a text, Hannah won't ever speak again."

"You wouldn't do that to her would you?" Sherlock glared at the man. "You're the one who loves her." Jim Moriarty responded,

"Ah but Sherlock, I'm not the only one." He licked his lips, "More than once I've told dear Hannah that you should have fucked her when you had the chance." He slid a sliver of apple in his mouth. "You should see how beautiful she is when she cums." Jim was getting a thrill out of evoking such a jealous anger from Sherlock. "I love when she would beg for me to fuck her." He made another slice in the apple. "She would get _so_ wet." A muscle twitched in Sherlock's jaw. "She is such a dirty girl."

"I think it's time for you to go." Jim placed the apple on the table.

"Just remember Sherlock. I owe you a fall. I. Owe. You." And with that the consulting criminal was gone. Sherlock rose from his chair, retrieving the gun from his desk and firing off six rounds into the wall.

John stepped into the room and stared at the man in front of him. "Jacob has taken Hannah.", was the only thing the tall detective said to John before turning down the hallway and closing the door to his bedroom.

…

The world was spinning at this moment. Hannah felt her body was restricted. She couldn't really move, the room smelled familiar, warm and cozy. She was blindfolded, wrists bound behind her back, ankles bound to prevent her from being able to escape. She heard a chair scrape against the floor and footsteps of someone leaving the room only to return a few seconds later. She let out a yell when the person's fingers gripped her hair and pulled her up, pressing the edge of a glass to her lips. Water flowed into her mouth and she found herself drinking every drop given to her, an incredible thirst overwhelming her.

The person dropped her back onto the mattress. She groaned and felt soreness in her muscles. "Let me go." Her voice wasn't confident and it wasn't loud. It was a harsh whisper, a desperate plea. The person didn't speak. Hannah tried not to cry. She could feel the prickle of tears and drew in a shuddering breath. "Please. I don't-"

"Shut up." The voice was clear and recognizable. It caused her to cry.

"Jacob pl-"

"I said shut up!" She felt his boot against her ankle that was hanging off of the bed. He put pressure on it and she cried out in pain. His boot was pressing her ankle almost to a breaking point and all she could do is cry. She tried to pull herself away from the pain but found she couldn't move far enough away to escape it. As his boot settled back against the floor she whimpered, pressing her face into the sheets of what she knew must have been his bed. "I-I don't want to have to hurt you Hannah. I just want you to know that." She felt the tears dampen her blindfold, it stuck to her skin.

"Why are you doing this?" She cried. "Please…" She heard the wooden chair creak from the absence of his weight. His footsteps made it sound like he was pacing.

"He offered me a deal." His voice was quiet. Slow pacing. "I was supposed to watch you… when he became involved… a few months ago…" Slow pacing. "I was told to come back here… because he knew you would run. '_She always runs'._ He said." The pacing stopped. "I went into the army as soon as I was able to… he knew I was brilliant with a gun… I was a sniper." Her heart clenched in her chest. "One of the best there ever was…" His footsteps grew closer. "He needed my skills… I was an asset to him and I knew that he always knew where you were… he knew I was in love with you and I always had been." His fingers untied the blindfold and he peeled it from her eyes which had been screwed shut. "I changed my name when I entered the army… it was odd being called Jacob again after so long." He ran his fingers through her hair and she opened her eyes.

She knew that if she got away she would need some sort of information for Sherlock to go off of, his name would be enough for him to find Jacob. If Jacob was working for Moriarty Hannah would need details. She asked, "What is your name?"

The corner of Jacob's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Sebastian Moran."


	18. 018 Army Doctor

**-It's short, I'm sorry. I feel like I owe you so much more. I am in the process of moving so things are kind of hectic. It's not one of my best chapters, so I hope you all like it. **

**By the way, I have a new tumblr so if you want to follow me... my url is ashleyismental'**

**{018}**

Army Doctor

Doctor John Watson studied hard to become a good doctor. He saved many lives while in the military, and he had also taken many lives in the military. His moral standing was that of an average man and his association with Sherlock Holmes was a constant even though he faced ridicule from others. He liked to think of himself as normal. Working at St. Barts and dating were just about his day to day. The cases Sherlock would include him in were the only anamoly.

He had known of Sebastian Moran, whispers through the grape vine of how the special ops officer went AWOL and had been possibly doing some dirty deals. He steered clear of him, sticking to the select group of which he spend most of his days. His friends. No one particularly liked Sebastian Moran. You just wouldn't say that. The words, I really like Sebastian Moran were not uttered by anyone before.

Sherlock 'allowed' John Watson to take the journey to bring Hannah back to London while he attended to whatever other buisness he must attend to. Smoke poured from the chimney where he knew Jacob and Hannah resided.

...

Hannah was crying. Jacob stood in the doorway and listened to her cry. Some part of him felt a dread because he knew what was coming. "Shut up." Another part of him was not as sympathetic. Hannah crawled to the top of the bed and glared at Jacob... Sebastian. She was working on the binds around her wrists, picking at the duct tape. She felt relief when her wrists fell free.

"I'm thirsty." Her voice was raspy and dry. The blond man glared at her and turned from the room, she quickly pulled the ducttape from around her ankles and stepped from the bed, the ankle that he had pressed on hours before was bruised. She winced and hid behind the door as she heard him come back. His footsteps paused and Hannah took that opportunity to slam the door against his body, surprisingly hard enough to make him stumble as she dashed down the hallway. His hand wrapped itself in her hair and yanked her back causing her to scream. Hannah thrashed against her captor, finding footing against his thigh, she kicked him in the groin causing him to drop her.

Hannah ripped the front door open and looked wide eyed at the Army Doctor who was standing on the other side. "John." John looked past her and he shoved the small brunette behind him, pulling his gun from his pocket and aimed it at his opponent who stood across from him with a matching weapon.

"Dr. Watson." The man smirked.

"Moran." John's anger was evident and Hannah peered around his side to see the face of her captor. "Hannah go... go to the Gregg's until I come to get you." Hannah bit her lip and hesitated. "You could only make this situation more stressful... please. Sherlock wouldn't forgive me if something were to happen."

"Isn't that sweet..." Sebastian Moran grinned. "Why hasn't the Detective come to pick up his sweetheart?"

"Hannah, go." She didn't want to leave. She didn't want John to get hurt. She didn't want 'Sebastian' to shoot him, but she knew she couldn't do anything to help either. So she took off, legs taking her across the yard and past her home, down the hill and not stopping until she reached the home of Arthur and Victoria Gregg. She banged on the door and waited. Arthur Gregg answered the door, Mrs. Gregg trailing behind him. Hannah's state struck a chord in the couple and Arthur ushered her in.

"John's at the servants house. Jacob-" Arthur Gregg's face was undicernable. Victoria put the kettle on as he disappeared into the back room. The women looked up as he reentered the room. His boots were on and a shotgun was held in his hands.

"Arthur..." He kissed his wife and Hannah stood.

"Mr. Gregg, please-"

"No. It's been too much. That boy has caused too much trouble for me to let this go. Look at what he's done to her Vicky." Arthur pulled his hunting hat on and patted Hannah's head.

"Be safe." Mrs. Gregg whispered. Mr. Gregg nodded and left the house, starting his way to John and 'Sebastian'. Hannah heard the kettle go off and Victoria Gregg filled a mug with tea, stirring in sugar and milk and grabbed a small piece of cake, placing it in front of the shivering girl. "You have to eat sweetie, it will make you feel better." Hannah stared at the small glazed pastry and to Mrs. Gregg.

"I'm so tired." She said. "So many bad things, one after another." Hannah shook her head and bit her lip. Mrs. Gregg moved to her side and brushed her hair behind her ear. "Why is he doing this to me?" She cried.

Victoria looked at the young woman by her side. She had always been so strong, too strong for a child. She has seen her grow up, practically raised her in that big empty house. This girl who has been put through so much pain. Richard Brooke was never her favorite person, the good Christian woman she was, she would bite her tongue about his actions, listening to the poor girl's Mother vent about how horrible that boy was and how Mr. Winters wouldn't tell him to go.

Hannah was finally breaking down.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore." She looked up at Victoria. "I just want this all to end." Mrs. Gregg brushed her hair back from her face. "I just don't know how to make this end..."

"You have to find something worth living for..." Hannah looked into her lap. "You have something you can fight for," She paused, "And that will keep you strong."

"What do you mean?" Hannah picked some of the glaze off of the cake.

"That boy, Sherlock," Hannah froze, "You can see the way he looked at you... and just know."

"Know what?"

"That he loves you." The plate clanged as her fingers slipped, pressing down the side too hard. Hannah quickly tried to steady it. "Hannah, the two of you loved each other a long time ago. You just didn't know it."

...

"She trusted you." John's hard stare didn't make Sebastian Moran falter. The sniper held a harsh glare of his own. The pair stood across from each other at an empass. Both had their weapon's aimed at each other.

"A foolish mistake." Sebastian said. "She always had an astounding faith in the good of people, trusted them too easily."

"Who is he?" Sebastian's eyebrow quirked. "Who is Richard Brook?" Sebastian chuckled.

"You couldn't handle it."

"Try me." The pair stood oblivious to Arthur Gregg who made his appearance known when he cocked his shotgun.

"Time to go Jacob." Sebastian glared at Mr. Gregg.

"This is not your place old man." John looked between the two.

"Leave the boy alone, go back to your _Master_." Arthur Gregg spat. Sebastian's lip curled in contempt and quickly turned firing a shot at the old man, John fired one at him in return, catching him in the shoulder. John quickly rushed to Arthur's side, keeping his gun raised at Sebastian, whose face was twisted in pain and anger.

"I'll see you at the fall, Dr. Watson." And with that Sebastian fled the home. John looked down at Arthur Gregg. He was still. Sebastian Moran didn't miss his mark and John's whole being filled with dread.


	19. 019 Death

**{019}**

Death

The day they buried Arthur Gregg was grey. The sky poured down a freezing rain that only confirmed every depressing feeling that the town had. Hannah Winters was dressed in black between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, the pair sat in a silence unsure of what to say to the small brunette who was staring off into space. The driver hadn't said a word either, no one wanted to be the one to say something first.

Hannah's eyes stayed fixed on some unknown point. Sherlock's were on her, and John's eyes were staring out the winow. The emotional attachment Hannah had to a man who was now deceased was a mystery to him. He had, on more than one occasion, heard her muffled cries through the walls, his inexperience in the subject leaving her to fend for herself while John stayed with Mrs. Gregg, her shock had not quite worn off yet.

"I don't know what to do Sherlock." She cried to him one night. "He was always so good to me..." Her large glassy eyes locked with his. The light from the moon seeped through the window and reflected the structure of the window panes across her skin. She grabbed his hand and played with his long fingers. Sherlock's calculating eyes tried to interpret what soothed her. Small amounts of contact, a silence that allowed her to vent anything that was worrying her. He would listen, let her play with his hands and it would soothe her nerves enough to allow her rest.

Any tense moments they had were left behind. She needed him. "He didn't deserve this..." Tears fell down her cheek. "Sherlock... please find Jacob... put him away forever." She pleaded. Sherlock found his palm involentarily moving to wipe the few tears that drifted down her cheeks. As it rested on her skin she moved slightly and pressed her lips to the center of his palm. "Please help me." Her begging stirred something inside the detective, something that soon urged an instinct never before found in him. Her arms wrapped around his torso, his hand rested on her head, the other rubbed small circles on her back. The apology was almost too quiet to hear.

"I'm sorry." Was what Sherlock said. And it took a moment for Hannah to realize what he said. She nodded and tightened her grip. "I-" He paused. "I should have never said those things to you." She frowned, her lips quivering with a sob she didn't want to let go.

"How did you know?" Her voice was broken. The soft sobs that escaped her lips as she waited for his answer.

"Know what?" She rolled her eyes.

"You know what." His body stiffened slightly.

"Your mannerisms. Signs of abuse in small flinches. Slightly frightened expressions. It was easily narrowed down in how you carried yourself."

"So it was obvious?" Her grip slightly loosened. He felt the silky strands of her hair under his finger tips.

"Only to me." She pulled away from him.

"You know who it is." Sherlock nodded, his hands returning to his sides. "When were you going to tell me that you knew?"

"Eventually it would have come up." She wrapped her arms around herself.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock." She whispered. She found her embarassment couldn't allow her to meet his eyes. "I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to betray you." For once in his life Sherlock didn't know what to say. No witty comment or sly sarcasm could benefit this situation in any way. No intelligent input found. "I understand if you don't want to forgive me..." His arms wrapped around her small frame with a bit of hesitation. Hannah looked up at Sherlock, trying to figure out what was going through his head. When his eyes came down to meet hers she bit her lip. Sherlock's face moved closer to hers and she could feel her heart jump in her chest. His lips pressed softly against the corner of her mouth and her eyes closed momentarily. When his lips were no longer on her skin she reopened them and leant her head against his chest.

As Sherlock felt her hand firmly grip his in the cab, he couldn't help but feel some dynamic of their relationship had changed. Hannah felt more comforable with him and in return he felt more at ease than he had ever been before with her hand wrapped in his. He could feel her uncertainty about this whole situation. Jim Moriarty was the man who damaged the girl next to him, and for that he knew that something had to be done. Drastic action had to be taken. He knew things were about to turn to hell and he needed to get her as far away from it as possible. "Turn around." He spoke. The cab driver looked up at him in the rearview mirror.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked. Sherlock turned away from the cabbie and looked at Hannah.

"It would be best if Hannah stayed."

"Sherlock, I can't stay." Hannah turned to the cabbie, "Don't turn around."

"Don't listen to her, take us back to the estate." Hannah removed her hand from his.

"I'm going back to London." She stated firmly.

"Why would you want her to stay out here?" John interviened.

"Can we please discuss this as soon as you tell me which way to go?" The cabbie shouted over the trio's argument.

"Back to the estate." Hannah groaned and shot a mean look at Sherlock before tucking her hands in her pockets. In the fifteen minutes it took them to get back to the estate, Sherlock refused to respond to anything John asked and Hannah concentrated her eyes out at the house that was growing closer. She practically climbed over John to get out of the cab.

"Why can't I go with you?" She looked at Sherlock who removed her suitcase from the car.

"You can't be around to see what will happen." Hannah looked confused.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock walked past her and up the front steps. "What's going to happen?"

"Sherlock, you're being irrational." John tried to stop his friend.

"No, John." Sherlock set Hannah's case down. "She has to stay, at least until I'm done with Moriarty." Hannah cringed outwardly at the name and John looked at her with confusion. Sherlock approached her, "This is for your own protection, I've discussed it with Mrs. Gregg and she was more than willing to make sure you are well taken care of."

"You shouldn't have asked that of her!" Hannah yelled. Sherlock stared at her.

"Why not?" Hannah rolled her eyes and looked at John expectantly.

"Maybe... he's right." Hannah's jaw dropped.

"John!" Hannah turned fully toward him. "How can you agree with him?" John shrugged.

"If he's worried enough about you to make you stay here..." Hannah frowned at him, she felt Sherlocks fingers brush against hers.

"Please stay." She heard him whisper. She bit her bottom lip and turned from the two, starting up the steps to her front door which she wretched open, kicking her case into the house and slamming the door behind her. She could feel the sting of tears in the back of her eyes and she peered out the window by the door, seeing the tall detective and his doctor friend climb into the back of the cab.

She turned away from the doors and looked across at the dark mahogany wood that panelled the floor. The house seemed so dreary, almost as though it was once the set of some gore-filled horror film. For a moment it crossed her mind that it sort of was.

...

It had been weeks without a word from Sherlock Holmes. John Watson habitually texted Hannah throughout the day, a nice call every now and then. Hannah kept herself busy, for some reason the thought of disobeying Sherlock's wishes had not crossed her mind. She hired a contractor and ripped every piece of dark wood out of the flooring, removed all of the old furniture and began anew. The floor was a light wood, a maple type of wood. The furnishings warm and comfortable. Old paintings were sold in an auction. Heirlooms kept and stowed away in a safety deposit box in the Bank of England, including the necklace her Mother had bestowed on her.

The house was now a home and she resided in it. The house on the back moor was promptly demolished, it was her first order of buisness.

She planted a garden in the back, small and sweet to her. She grew flowers and on the other end strawberries and various vegtables. Mrs. Gregg would bring up the haul of good meats among other things once a week. Since the death of her husband, Mrs. Gregg had taken over the duty of keeping the grocery store in town. Helping Hannah whenever she could.

Hannah stood in her sitting room. Fingers pressed against her lips as she stared at the two paint samples against the wall. "The dark rosewood would work better in this room." Hannah dropped her fingers from her mouth and turned to look at Sherlock Holmes, mouth dropping open in surprise.

"Are you alright?" The tall detective was soaked to the bone in rain that she didn't know had been falling. As these words left her mouth, the phone in her front right pocket started ringing.

"It's probably John... don't tell him I am here." Hannah answered the phone.

"John?" She heard incoherent mumbling from the other end, but only could make out Sherlock's name.

"He's dead." Her eyes grew wide as she looked to the man across from her.

"What do you mean John?" She grit her teeth together.

"Sherlock's dead." His voice cracked. "He's dead, he's..." Hannah heard the phone call end and she looked at the screen.

"Sherlock..." Her eyes moved up to his. "What is he talking about?" Sherlock looked around.

"You've changed it." He picked up a discarded paintbrush.

"Sherlock, why did John just tell me you died?" She gripped her phone tightly in her hand.

"What's for dinner?"

"Sherlock Holmes!" He stared at her for a moment, looking at her wide eyes that began to tear up. "Why did he tell me... that you've died?" Her phone was gripped tightly in her palm, knuckles turning white.

"Because... I have died." She threw the phone at his head, barely missing it, letting it smash against the wall. She walked over to him and pushed him backward.

"You don't die!" She yelled. "You don't 'die' and show up here and leave John thinking that you are dead!" He let her take out her anger on him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Her hand made it's final contact with Sherlock's chest when he mentioned the other fact,

"Moriarty is dead." Her fist closed around the cloth on his chest. Her body feeling weak, she felt her knees buckle.

"Explain."


	20. 020 Begin

**{020}**

Begin

Hannah cradled a mug in her hands. Sherlock Holmes sitting silently across from her, studying her. Since he had last seen her, she seemed more at peace, less tense than she had been before. Even with the news he had just explained to her. "Why can't you tell John that you're alive?" She asked.

"They're still after me. After the funeral... I'm going to begin taking down everything Moriarty has built. Once all of that is out of the way... it will be safe to go back." Hannah sipped the tea. "I have to prove my innocence." Hannah placed her mug down on the kitchen table and pressed the heel of her palms into her eyes.

"How long do you think this is going to take?" She asked him. She lent back in her chair and met his eyes. Sherlock, without a moment's hesitation said,

"Three years. Give or take." Hannah let out a shaky breath.

"I have to pretend like you're dead... for three years." Hannah moved across the large kitchen to the fridge and pulled out the leftovers from her earlier meal, remembering Sherlock's hunger, she popped it into the microwave. "Where are you planning on staying?" She looked at him as the food finished, grabbing silverware out of the drawer and placing his meal in front of him.

"I don't have clothes for you... the bedrooms aren't all finished... only mine is..." She watched him take slow tentative bites. Something definitely had changed in his demeanor. A feeling of remorse poorly disguised in his quietness. "We could turn one of the rooms into a laboratory." She suggested. "You'll need to do experiments... I'm assuming." A bit of shine was back in his eyes at that. "It will be for three years anyway... might as well. I will talk to the contractors tomorrow, just list your requirements." He shook his head.

"Whoever is still looking for aftershocks would notice you hiring men to build a laboratory in your house." He wiped his mouth on a napkin. "I'll build it." Hannah frowned.

"I could get some of... Arhtur's clothes in the meantime." She stood and walked out of the room. She returned minutes later with a sleepshirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. "He was larger than you so... this will most likely slip, but tie the pants tight and you should be fine. Go shower." Something was wrong with Sherlock. He wasn't the same as he had been. Since being here, he hadn't argued, belitted her intelligence or had any sly or witty comments. It seems as though he was in shock.

This quietness was earie to her and as she looked at his plate she knew something was different. He ate every bit of food she had given him.

...

She heard the shower running and it wasn't a surprise to her that he knew she took over what once was her parent's bedroom, turning it into her own. The white bedding and lighter wood transformed the room she once refused to go in. She knew he would have to spend the night in here and wondered if she should sleep in the same bed as him. The appeal of sharing a bed with him was enough to make her sure to offer it. On the other hand she was unsure whether or not he would go for it.

She heard the water turn off and quickly switched into her pajamas, tying her hair up for the night. She saw him come out of the bathroom and stared at him. Shirtless, he was drying off his hair. She looked at the floor and smoothly maneuvered around him, into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Sherlock was standing at the door behind her. "I'll take the floor..." She shook her head and spat out the toothpaste.

"We can share the bed." She offered. "It's pretty big so..." She rinsed out the sink and walked to Sherlock, turning out the bathroom light. "Which side did you want?" Sherlock chose the right side, slipping under the sheets. Hannah crawled in next to him turning off the bedside light. Sherlock faced away from her. She could see the muscles in his back, they were tense. She watched them shift as he attempted to get comfortable. "Sherlock..." She saw his head turn towards her slightly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She lay down, body facing his. She could feel the doubt in his voice, she reached out, holding her fingertips over his skin wondering if he would mind. She lightly pressed his fingers to his back and watched the muscles shift. She took it a step further and pressed her palm against him. His body was warm from the shower. Since he did not push her away, she found herself wrapping her arm around him, resting her head on his back, her fingers brushing against his hip.

Something was certainly wrong with Sherlock Holmes. She had never seen him so despondent. She never in all of her time knowing him, have seen him as quiet as he has been in these past few hours. "When I was a little girl, my Mum used to take me down to this river. It used to be an all day event. We would pack up a picnic and snacks. It would be all of us, except Dad. She would wake us up early, and we would go through a trail in the woods, to the river. It was almost like the beach, sandy shore and everything." She felt him shift under her. "She never had the chance to teach me how to swim, but I would play in the sand while my brothers and sisters would swim. She died without ever teaching me how."

She felt her eyes grow heavy, and to the sound of Sherlock's even breathing, she fell asleep.

...

Sherlock stared at her. As he shifted in his sleep, her head now rested on his chest, her hand placed over his heart, legs intertwined. Her skin pale from sleep, lips pink and parted slightly. He knew she was the only one who would be able to keep his secret. He would keep her safe from anyone trying to come after her, Sebastian Moran or otherwise and in turn she would give him a place to hide.

He remembered all of those instances where they have gotten close, closer than he had been with anyone before. Each time he tried to will her to go further, both backing away from some sort of interruption or when a situation got too intense. He wasn't sure who she was to him and who he was to her was a greater mystery. He had studied her more closely than any other person before. When she became angry her cheeks would flush, eyes would become glassy, but she wouldn't cry. She would scream and if she happened to have something in her hand she would throw it. She enjoyed watching telly with John, she enjoyed comedies the best. She loved to laugh, but covered her mouth when she did. She doesn't like her smile.

More often than not she cooked. She loved cooking and the small smile she had on her face while doing it was proof enough. She was intelligent, more than she let on, although not as intelligent as him. She made irrational decisions, trying to do what she thinks is best at the time, sometimes regretting the choice of action later on. She tries to protect those who she feels needs protecting. She's afraid, but she is brave. The state of mind she had been in even with that scar across her throat was powerful. She would get knocked down and get right back up again.

She was honest and she liked to talk, but only to those she knew could keep the many secrets that are locked away in her head. For some reason she decided to trust him and while he didn't know why, he felt a strong need to protect that trust, savor the bond she had with him.

He slowly slipped from under her embrace and crept out of the room. He grabbed her phone from the living room floor, snapping the pieces of it back together and turning it on. The screen was cracked. He made his way into the basement and flipped on the light. It was large, big enough for a full laboratory. One he had always wanted. He sent out a text listing off the equipment and supplies he would need. He then moved into the kitchen and peered into the contents of her fridge.

Hannah woke with a start, arm sweeping across her sheets to feel them empty. She looked around for the man she expected to still be laying next to her. She wrapped her dressing gown around herself and stepped from the room. "Sherlock?" She called.

"In here." She walked down the stairwell and into the kitchen where Sherlock set a plate of eggs onto the center island. "Eat, the contractors will be here in an hour."

"You cooked breakfast?" He arranged her plate in front of her as she sat down, setting also a cup of water next to her. She looked at the meal before her. Just simple eggs and toast, but this had been the first time she's seen Sherlock cook anything other than some eyeballs in the microwave. She watched him as she ate. She didn't know how, but he seemed to have gotten clothes delivered here for he was in a simple shirt and jeans, something she had never seen him wear before.

"I'm taking the basement as my laboratory, I'll take care of everything, begin finishing the living room." She nodded. His distance was kept and she knew she had to respect it, at least for a bit. She didn't want to mention that she knew she would be making a very long, emotional phone call to John later on that day. She was dreading it.


	21. 021 Domestic

**{021}**

Domestic

That's how it felt, domestic. Hannah would never admit it, but this feeling of 'domestic bliss' was strong. It was as though she was doing this with her husband and not her... detective, friend? Sherlock spent a lot of time in the basement, she would go down every so often and bring him a drink and snacks, he would thank her, give her a small smile and she would return upstairs. The living room paint was left to dry and she checked on the library. All of the books had been taken out and packed for protection.

The old bookshelves were taken down, the new ones fashioned slightly more modern, the books will be sitting in the wall. The old fireplace, being remodeled with marble instead of brick. She had the thought of maybe getting a replica of Sherlock's sofa put in here, somewhere where he can sit for hours and think like he does. She knew Sherlock must have her phone. She thought of John and knew that she had to call him. It was nearing three when she decided to finally call him.

"Sherlock." She opened the basement door and looked at the steps that were no longer there, they lay in pieces on the ground, the framework for the new ones just being put up by the man she was looking for. "I never knew you were so... handy." He smirked. "I have to call John." He paused in what he was doing, reaching into his pocket an tossing the phone up to her. She pressed a button to light the screen.

"Be a good actress, cry a bit." She frowned at his plain mechanical tone. She nodded and walked away, stepping out the front door and sitting on the steps. She selected John's number and pressed call, staring at the phone before putting it to her ear. John picked up after four rings.

"Hannah?" His voice was low, seemed as though he was drained. She let out a shaky breath, feeling pain grow in her heart.

"Yeah." She lent forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She heard John's slow breathing on the other end of the phone. "Are you alright?"

"I went to see her again." Hannah listened. "For the first time in a year and a half I had to." She could hear the despair in his voice. "Sherlock..." His voice trailed off.

"I know." She rubbed her eyes. Her voice cracked. "I know."

"He told me..." John paused, taking a deep breath. "He told me that Moriarty wasn't real... he said that the whole bit, the big cases where he would swoop in and save the day... were all planned by him." She rubbed her temple, staring out at the wide empty space in front of her.

"Did you believe him?"

"No." John moved. "He's not... he would never."

"When is the service?" She waited a moment for John to respond. The service would be held in nine days. Mycroft had assured John that everything will be taken care of and the only part he would have to do is show up. No doubt that the crowd will not be very large. Hannah and John chatted for a bit longer before ending the phone call. Hannah traced her bottom lip with her finger, staring off into space. The sound of construction was tuned out as she began feeling a strong amount of regret. A certain weight fell on her chest knowing that she had omitted the truth of Sherlock still being alive, building what she was sure to be a place for him to shut her out most hours of the day. Hannah stood and entered the house.

She walked up the stairs and into her bedroom stripping off her clothing, leaving a trail to her bathroom. She started the faucet and let the bath fill. She tied her hair up in a messy bun and sunk into the heat, resting her head on the lip of the tub. She stared at the phone, which she left sitting on the sink. She closed her eyes attempting to soothe an ache that had begun to grow in the front of her skull.

"When is the service?" Her eyes snapped open and she sunk further into the water, peering over the edge of the tub to look at Sherlock who was standing in the doorway.

"Next Saturday, get out." He stepped further into the room out of no conscious volition of his own. He felt a pulling in his chest for him to step closer. He could imagine how her smooth skin looked without all of the sickness it used to hold. Only glimpses of it had caused a tightening in his trousers. The closeness of her skin, lips breathing softly against his chest last night had caused the same hardness, fear of waking her had determined him to not act. Her hand that had rested too low on his torso, nearly brushing against his throbbing arousal.

"I will be going with you." He stated. He felt his skin temperature rise, the tops of her breasts revealed to him from beneath the water. Hannah felt half embarrassment, half excitement about the position he had put them in. If he walked any closer there was no point in trying to cover up, all would be exposed. A part of her wished for him to, another part wanted him to leave the room. She grew uncomfortable under his intense stare.

"You shouldn't go with me." She said. "You might be seen." She shifted her position, unknowingly giving the man a few feet away the perfect view of one of her breasts. The pale round flesh with a light pink aureola made his throat constrict slightly. He removed his gaze from her and shifted his eyes to the ground.

"I'm going and that is final." Turning on his heel he left the room, quickly hurrying to his project. Hannah watched him go, eyes growing in size at the bulge that appeared in the front of his jeans. She sunk down into the water, submersing herself.

Surely it was her mind playing tricks on her. Perhaps it was just the cut of the jean, some bulge out, but not like that and usually only when sitting. He seemed uncomfortable and maybe that was the reason why. She felt her heartbeat rise, feeling the gentle throb of arousal. She couldn't quite wrap her head around what she just saw.

Later on she refused to mention it. As much as her mouth begged her to make even the slightest comment that would hint at what she had seen, she refused. Partly because of her embarrassment and partly because she didn't know what to do. Sure she had seen an erection before, but only one man's and that man was now dead just as the one building a lab in her basement should be.

The pair settled into bed that night, an obvious tension in the air. Sherlock, after finishing his shower, paused at the sight of Hannah reading a book in bed. He thought back to all of those television programs where the husband and wife would read in bed before kissing each other goodnight and turning off the lamps. For a moment he imagined doing so, clearing the small gap between them to kiss her pouting lips before turning off his bedside lamp. He then banished the thought.

Hannah's eyes shifted to the mop of wet curls that climbed into her bed, she closed her book. "Get much done with the lab today?" Sherlock smiled slightly.

"Floors are down, including stairs, walls painted. I left the basement door open and put a few fans down there to air it out." Hannah nodded. She slipped further under the sheets. The gap between their two bodies provided a space between the sheets and the bed where if either got the urge, their bodies would touch. Hannah ignored this urge. Sherlock stared at her for a moment. "Why did you not say that Moriarty abused you?" Hannah's body grew tense.

"I didn't think it was going to do much to add rapist to the list of murders." Hannah turned out her light, facing her back to Sherlock.

"He used the name Richard Brook as an alias... One of many." Hannah mumbled 'hmmph' in response. "He said something to me on the roof of St. Barts." He paused. "I have yet to deduce it's reality." His fingers brushed her shoulder before pressing it down, she followed the motion until she was laying on her back, Sherlock's frame slightly hovering over her own.

"What is it?" He seemed to be calculating something in his mind before quickly leaning down, stopping when his lips were only centimeters from her own. She could feel her breath stop, her heartbeat seemed deafening. She watched as Sherlock's eyes began to close and repeated the action with her own. She could smell the soap on his skin. She felt his lips ghost across hers and felt her heart skip. The satisfaction of the beautiful pressure of his lips against hers was soon met with her returned heartbeat. She could feel an intense burning in her chest as he moved his mouth slowly with hers, seemingly testing, experimenting with different pressures and timid tongue. Hannah softly gripped his damp curls and his hand found a place of rest on her ribs just below her right breast. The brush of his groin against her leg made him shiver and he abruptly pulled away.

The sight of Hannah, lying underneath him with slightly swollen lips and a heaving chest made Sherlock panic. He made a noise, a hmmph noise that seemed as though he got what he needed before stepping from the bed and leaving the room. The sense of heartbreak that was in Hannah's chest when he did so seemed unfathomable. Little did she know, Sherlock Holmes was feeling something he had never felt before, but realized he had always felt for the small brunette of whom he abandoned.

_"I found your heart Sherlock," Moriarty grinned. "The people who actually care about Sherlock Holmes are in themselves a rare breed, but the one who stands above the rest?" He was circling the taller man like a vulture surveying it's prey. "Sweet Hannah." He grinned. Sherlock stayed impassive, but felt something he was so unsure of grip him. It was masked by anger. "It's quite sad how you will never know what she looks like writhing underneath you." Jim Moriarty was trying to push buttons. "You'll never know how sweet her pussy tastes, how tight she is... how she becomes even tighter when she cums." Sherlock's knuckles turned white. "I've fucked her, watched as her body unfolded beneath me." Jim picked at his fingernail, "In the beginning, she always cries, always tells me no." Sherlock's jaw clenched. "Just get angry with me already, I'm talking about the woman you love." Jim laughed and prodded Sherlock._

_"I do not love Miss Winters." Jim scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning to the street. _

_"It's a real shame that you wont live long enough to figure it out yourself."_


	22. 022 Funeral

**Things are about to get a bit complicated y'all.  
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**{022}**

Funeral.

Seeing it there, black marble with silver lettering. Sherlock Holmes' tomb stone. Hannah couldn't help but cry. The sadness she could feel from the man next to her overwhelmed her senses, causing tears to pour from her eyes. John Watson had his arm wrapped around her shoulder and she could feel the intense stare of the actual Sherlock Holmes distanced about fifty feet away. Her heart was in turmoil. She knew that she couldn't tell John for the sake of Sherlock's mission. There were things that Sherlock had to do before he could make himself known to John, to the public once again.

She rubbed her hand across his back in soothing motions, leaning her head against his shoulder she let herself cry. He wrapped his arms around her and they both stood motionless for a moment. "I'm so sorry John." He pressed his lips into her hair, kissing her head. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

About an hour later, when Hannah stepped onto Baker Street she felt utterly heartbroken. Sherlock was waiting for her in a back alley a block away and had text her saying she only had an hour before they must return to the estate.

The flat was haunting. John hadn't moved a single thing out of place. Sherlock's experiments lay on the kitchen table, a mess of papers lined the desk and Sherlock's dressing gown lay over arm of his chair. Hannah gripped some of the fabric between her fingers and pulled the silky material to her chest. She glanced over at John who was staring blankly at the material in her hands. "Will you be alright?" He snaps out of it and nods.

"Yeah... I'm going to be taking some shifts at St. Barts," He sinks down into his chair. "Work might help take my mind off it for a while." Hannah walked over to John, silently slipping Sherlock's dressing gown into her bag. She knelt in front of him and wrapped her arms around him. "You should get back... it's still not that safe here." She slowly pulled back and smiled kindly to her friend. "I'll be fine. Go home. I'll call you Saturday." Standing and saying goodbye to her wounded friend she couldn't bring herself to say more in fear of telling him the heavy secret that lays in her chest.

...

The pair rode back in silence. Sherlock Holmes was behind the wheel, Hannah pressing her fingers to her mouth and staring blankly out of the window. They were in the country now, the next town they would hit would be in roughly forty minutes, her- their home being ten minutes from the start of town. Sherlock's eyes would shift over to her before returning to the road. Hannah sighed and let her head press against the glass. Her hand fell to her lap and she looked over to Sherlock. Her voice came out shaky, "I don't think I can do this." Sherlock began to slow the car. "I can't lie to him Sherlock... he's..." She started to cry. Sherlock pulled the car over and parked. "He's back to see his therapist."

"It's for his own protection." Hannah bit her bottom lip. "Please, once I have all threats from Moriarty dealt with I will go home." He watched her run her fingers over her lips. He slowly pulled the car back into traffic, slipping his hand across the seat to lightly grasp hers. Hannah turned to look at their clasped fingers, then to his face, which at the same time, turned to glance out the window before focusing intently on the road before them.

Her mind drifted to a week ago. The pair locked lips before bed and Sherlock hadn't mentioned it since. This small gesture of any sort of soothing affection was new to the pair of them. Hannah wasn't sure what was going through Sherlock's brain. She felt as though this was his silent apology to her. _I'm sorry I put you in this position, please forgive me. _Hannah gave his hand a small squeeze and redirected her gaze to the window. "Drop me off at Mrs. Gregg's house, I want to check in on her." Sherlock slowed down beside the home and Hannah removed herself from the car.

"Be home before dark." Was all he said before he drove the rest of the way to the estate. Hannah knocked twice on the door and waited. Victoria Gregg answered the door and looked worse for wear. Hannah immediately walked in moving over to prepare Mrs. Gregg some tea.

"How have you been fairing?" Mrs. Gregg took a seat at the kitchen table.

"It could be better." She smiled. It seemed forced. Hannah refrained from telling Mrs. Gregg that Sherlock had 'died' almost a week and a half ago. It would have been too much for her poor soul to handle. Mrs. Gregg had enough to deal with at the moment. She had thinned out considerably since her husband's death. Hannah would stop by two or three times a week and even cook her dinner while she watched some of her shows. Hannah was simply stopping for tea now, the late hour only left room for tea before she had to be home before Sherlock came searching for her.

She set the two cups down on the table and poured the water from the steaming kettle over the bags in each letting them steep. "I was thinking, spring is finally here, maybe we could start planting some flowers in the garden." Hannah smiled at the nodding older woman.

"It would be nice." Mrs. Gregg said, "A garden would keep me busy."

"I was thinking of planting a vegetable garden in mine..." Hannah said. "Sherlock-"

"How is Sherlock?" Hannah disposed of the used bags.

"He's good, working on a case now." It wasn't exactly lying.

"He could probably help me out with the planting and things." She smiled. "He'll give me trouble at first but..." Mrs. Gregg laughed.

"Do it the wrong way and he'll step in and do it for you." Mrs. Gregg laughed. Hannah joined in before sipping her tea.

"No one can know he's here." Mrs. Gregg nodded.

"I understand, my lips are sealed." She stood from the chair and went to rinse out her cup. Hannah following suit. "You probably should be getting back before he starts worrying." Hannah sighed and stretched.

"Yeah... he'll come searching for me soon." The sun was beginning to set. Hannah hugged the older woman and stepped towards the door. "I'll stop by sometime soon."

"I will be here."

...

Hannah entered the house slipping her shoes off at the door. The pleasant aroma of food met her there and her confusion lay clear on her face. "Sherlock?" She heard him respond to her call in the kitchen. She entered the room and watched Sherlock plate a pasta dish with wide eyes. "You cooked?"

"Yes." He placed the pot back on the counter and lifted the two steaming plates to the kitchen table on her left which she just noticed had two wine glasses and a bottle of wine on it. She didn't know how to feel about this. Was Sherlock being romantic or was he really that apologetic for her upset with this situation. He wiped his hands on a towel and smiled at his work. "Wine?" Hannah smiled.

"Yes please." He poured her a glass and Hannah slipped into the seat opposite him. He finished pouring her glass and she brought it too her lips letting the liquid coat her tongue. Sherlock was staring at her. "You don't usually cook."

"It's an experiment." Right.

"What did you do to it?" She leaned back from the plate.

"Nothing." She glanced at him skeptically. "The experiment doesn't have to do with anything in the food." She nodded and picked up her fork, spearing a piece of pasta along with some chicken. She glanced up at Sherlock. He was watching her as she placed the first bit of food in her mouth. She was surprised to find it was delicious. As soon as he was sure she enjoyed it he began to eat his.

"This is really good." Sherlock grinned.

"I know." Hannah rolled her eyes. She felt his foot brush against hers and paused slightly before resuming her eating. His leg was next, his calve touched hers, rubbing up and down softly.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" He stood from his chair and paused for a moment, not answering her question. Hannah stood up and his fingers brushed down arm. "What kind of experiment is this?" His fingers slipped into her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. She looked up at him, her head now on an angle. She grew nervous. His intense stare made her body tremor. His grip tightened in her hair as his lips pressed against hers. Hannah's eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into his body her hands pressing against his chest.

Sherlock's free hand traced up her spine and back down. Sherlock's body urged him to do more. He walked forward, causing Hannah to back up against the wall beside the kitchen door. She moaned softly into his mouth as he pressed his body against hers. She gasped feeling his firm erection against her stomach and pulled back, letting her head rest against the wall. His fingers drifted down her arms. "What are you doing Sherlock?"

His eyes met hers, both half lidded and lips slightly swollen. "I don't know." Hannah placed her hand at the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to her own pressing a soft kiss to his lips. She settled back a few inches from his face. "What have you done to me?" Hannah shook her head as he let his forehead rest against hers. She shifted her hips and closed her eyes as she felt the warmth from his erection against her.

"I don't know."

_Hannah was crying as his fingers found their way under her skirt. "Your mouth says no, but your body says yes." He pulled her panties to the side, running two of his fingers down her slick folds, letting his thumb press against her clit. _

_"Jim. Please." She sobbed. "I don't want this." She felt him grin against the skin of her neck. _

_"Yes you do. _

A tear fell down her cheek and before Sherlock could kiss her again she pushed him away. "I'm sorry." She turned and walked from the room.

"Hannah?" He called after her. She quickly climbed the stairs.

"Thank you for dinner." She entered her bedroom and shut the door. Sherlock felt his body cool and sat back in Hannah's seat looking at the meal they just shared. He pressed his palms together before letting his chin rest on his finger tips.

_What just happened?_


	23. 023 Cope

**Alright guys, so this chapter is short, but it means a lot in transition to an ending that I guess if I get some positive reviews, will turn into something more, perhaps a sequel. **

**This is the end of Secret.  
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**I've been somewhat lost during this whole story and I plan on reading it for myself, trying to figure out what I exactly did here. I plan on making a sequel because I guess I wanted things to be more drawn out, but I didn't think the story fit into the synopsis I labeled it under anymore.  
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**If anything, this will be on a small hiatus until I kind of figure out everything about Hannah because she confuses me honestly. I think perhaps she's a part of myself which is why she is so confusing because I'm lost.  
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**I'm using her as a way to find myself, if I had to explain it. So... yeah. I will read this story in its entirety and if you would like to PM me or review with any comments about the story or questions you may have, let me know.  
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**Thank you for reading. I really do appreciate every single one of you.  
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**xoxo Ashley  
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{023}

Cope

_Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is a severe anxiety disorder. It often follows an event of psychological trauma. This event can consist of a threat of death to oneself or someone else or ones physical, sexual, or psychological integrity. This overwhelms the individual's ability to _cope.

Hannah sat in the bath tub. She didn't know why the bath tub was the place she ran to, but here she was, sitting in the empty bath tub in pajamas. She was staring at her feet, her toes were wrapped in excessively warm socks. She tucked her hands into her sleeves and rested her head on her knees, wrapping her arms around her head she began to cry.

She was lost in a mix of emotion and feeling. James Moriarty was the only man to ever touch her and while she hated it, she found a great pleasure in the things he would do to her body. It was as though he performed some sort of witchcraft leaving her paralyzed.

She felt an immense pain in her chest as she let out a sob. She felt violated. It had been weeks in a world without Moriarty and she couldn't get every word he had ever said out of her head. The whispers in her ear as she lay in the dark at night. The sinister criminal would tell her how beautiful his broken china doll looked with bruises on her skin. How he was the only one who could appreciate her beauty as he pressed his fingers against her welts. He caused her pain and told her how he was the only one who could love her.

She heard Sherlock, standing in the open doorway. She could feel his eyes burning into her skin, he was trying to figure her out, trying to see what he could possibly do at this moment that would help the situation. She turned her head away from her knees and looked at him through her tears. He gingerly stepped towards her. This small, frail, child of a woman that seemed to be causing a swelling pain in his chest. He stepped over the rim of the tub and sat across from her, his long legs extending past her hips, feet resting behind her. Her curled up form nestled comfortably between his knees.

"I will never be normal." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I couldn't even finish school because of _him_." She was sobbing and Sherlock didn't know how to fix it. He had no way of solving the crime that had been committed. There was no clever way of laying out all of the facts and closing the case. This wasn't a corpse he was looking at, it was a girl who had been given every reason to be depressed.

Her whole family was taken away from her by a man who wanted to keep her on a leash. She had been raped and beaten, not to mention anything that might have been done psychologically. She was happy most times, emotional some others. She wasn't really close to anyone, the first person he had seen her grow close to was John and as far as he knew John was her only friend. Sherlock didn't know what he was to her. He didn't know who he was to the girl who was crying in front of him. All he knew was that he had to comfort her.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, and letting her bury her face into his neck. She lay down in the tub to be comfortable enough to lean into him. His hands rest between her shoulder blades and he let her cry. "I just want to be normal." She cried. "I don't want to be some crazy girl that everyone feels as though they have to walk on eggshells around." She twisted her fingers in the fabric of her shirt. "Have you seen the way they look at me when I go into town? They mumble and shield their children from me like I'm the fucking plague. Like if they touch me then their whole family would die. I don't know what to do." She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater. "I don't know what to do... I don't know if I will ever be able to have a normal life. A normal boyfriend and eventually have a normal wedding with normal children and a normal job." Sherlock's fingers ran through her hair, taking in the things she had just spilled across his chest between choking sobs.

"Perhaps you were never meant to be normal..." His voice was soothing, more soothing than anything else she could think of. "Perhaps _we_ were never meant to be normal."

Hannah stopped crying, looking up at Sherlock who was staring blankly at the wall across from him. It had never, until this moment, crossed her mind that something made Sherlock into the man he is today. The distant, guarded, over analytical, crazy somewhat sociopathic, but not really man he is today. Something happened to turn him into this person and possibly this wanting to be normal had been something both of them wanted for the longest time. Both of them had wanted to live a normal life, but Sherlock brought to her attention that the pair of them, both Sherlock and Hannah, were perhaps not meant to be normal. And if they were not meant to be normal, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they weren't normal together.


	24. Sequel

Alright darlings.

The Sequel to this lovely story is posted and it is titled Closer.

Be sure to review and tell me if you like it!

xoxox

Ashley Marie


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